





Oo 





























































-7\. 



A MEMORIAL 



LIFE, CHARACTER, AND DEATH 



OF 



Rev. BENJAMIN F. HOSFORD. 



How pure at heart, and sound in head, — 
With what divine affections bold, 
Should be the man whose thought would hold 

An hour's communion with the dead." 



V 



CAMBRIDGE: 

$rintei> at tlje iSitar^iiie $tt$$. 

1866. 



PREFACE. 

It is perhaps due to all concerned to say, that 
the single object of the writer has been, to present 
to Mr. Hosford's own intimate friends a picture of 
the man, the Christian, and the minister, just as 
they knew him, especially in his more retired 
walks. And, while he is well aware that a cold 
and severe taste might find in such a memorial of 
such a man matter for criticism, he will be satisfied 
if they who knew, and appreciated, and loved the 
man, do but see him reflected in the unstudied and 
unfettered freedom of his own quiet and beautiful 
daily life. It has often been by no means easy to 
decide just what selection, from the mass of mate- 
rials at hand, would best aid in furnishing this por- 
trait, and it is more than probable that in respect 
to this there have been some errors in judgment. 
It is proper to add, that the poetic extracts, so 
freely introduced, are known to have been, to a 
great extent, specially dear to Mr. Hosford, and 
have been introduced mainly because they are so 



vi PREFACE. 

tenderly associated with him in the minds of his 
most intimate friends, and now so touchingly ex- 
pressive of their recollections of some trait in his 
character, some phase in his experience, or some 
scene in his life or death. 

With many thanks to those — especially to one 
most deeply .and tenderly interested — who have 
aided and cheered him in his labor, the Editor, in 
laying down his pen, can only say, that, both for 
the dear departed brother's sake, and for his Mas- 
ter's sake, he would most gladly, were he able, lay 
upon his tomb a more worthy garland. 

. . . . " Manibus date lilia plenis ; 

Purpureos spargam flores 

. . et fungar inani 

Munere." 

L. T. 

West Amesbury, March 24, 1866. 



CONTENTS 



• CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

His Childhood and Childhood's Home ... 1 

CHAPTER n. 
The Pastor 23 

CHAPTER III. 
The Pastor, Continued . . ... . . ,53 

CHAPTER IV. 

Mr. Hosford in the Pulpit ...... 70 

CHAPTER V. 
Love of Science ... .* 83 

CHAPTER VI. 
Love of Nature 87 

CHAPTER VII. 
Love of Music 101 

CHAPTER VHI. 
Love of Country 107 

CHAPTER IX. 
Love of Satire . 115 



viii CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER X. 

PAGE 

Mr. Hosford as a Friend 131 

CHAPTER XI. 
His Love of Home 145 

CHAPTER XII. 
The Bereaved Father 156 

CHAPTER XHI. 
Pursuit of Health 174 

CHAPTER XIV. 
Waning Hopes 183 

CHAPTER XV. 
Dismission 202 

CHAPTER XVI. 
"Breaking Up" 206 

CHAPTER XVII. 
Last Days 217 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
Funeral Services 237 

CHAPTER XIX. 
The Sleeping Place 240 

CHAPTER XX. 
Letters of Condolence . 243 



MEMORIAL. 



CHAPTER I. 

MR. HOSFORD's CHILDHOOD, AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 

" Our cradle is the starting-place 
In life ; we run the onward race 

And reach the goal, 
When, in the mansions of the blest, 
Death leads to its eternal rest 
The weary soul." 

Anon. 

Benjamin Franklin Hosford was born in Thet- 
ford, Vt., November 11, 18 1J. He was tbe son of 
Joseph and Abigail (Bartholomew) Hosford, and the 
youngest of twelve children. Baptized in infancy by 
" good old Dr. Burton," whose praise was in all the 
churches, he was trained by his parents as a child of 
the covenant, and was early impressed with a sense of 
his sinfulness and his need of a saving interest in Christ. 
Unfortunately, but few of the incidents of his childhood 
can now be recalled in a form which permits their intro- 
duction here. But the emphatic testimony of all who 
knew him is, that his early life was one of rare exemp- 
tion from the common foibles of youth, and of amiable- 

ness, cheerfulness, and seriousness, blended in a char- 
l 



2 MEMORIAL. 

acter of remarkable maturity and symmetry. It was 
his own cherished intention, during the last years of his 
life, to write out for his children a sketch of the promi- 
nent incidents of his boyhood. Failing strength, how- 
ever, put the execution of this plan out of his power. 
Yet often and earnestly did he express his gratitude 
to God, that he was preserved from the vices into 
which he saw so many boys continually falling. " Oh, 
that these boys knew the simplicity and innocence of 
my early mountain home ! " was often the expressed 
sigh of his heart, as he witnessed the rush of young 
people around him into scenes and associations likely 
to be a life-long injury to them. 

But, while he was ever grateful that he had been 
kept from the common vices and mistakes of youth, he 
bitterly recalled, as he looked back from manhood, 
some acts, which, however they may have failed to 
attract the notice of others, he deeply regretted to the 
day of his death. One of these painful reminiscences 
is best given in his own simple but touching words. 
In a communication addressed to children, he says, — 

" I will tell you about Frank H- . He is now 

a man ; but when he was a little boy, it used to be his 
part of the work to bring in the wood at night, after 
he had come home from school. He then had three 
sisters, all older than himself. One of them, whom at 
that time he loved more than the others, after having 
been married about a year came home again, sick with 
consumption. She had a room by herself, and, as it 
was December, she needed a fire also. You would 



CHILDHOOD AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 3 

suppose, would you not, that Frank would have been 
very happy to keep a good fire all the time for the 
sister he loved so much ( But this increased his work, 
and though the wood was all cut and piled in a shed 
near the door, still he began to be tired of bringing it 
in night after night for so long a time, especially as it 
did not seem to make his sister any better. It kept 
him from sliding, or skating, or playing with other 
boys, or from his books ; so after a while he did not 
go up to her bed-side, as he used to do, after laying 
down his wood, to take her by her hand, which was 
thin and pale and cold, asking her if she wanted him 
to do anything more which could make her happy. 

" One night, when he was more fretful than usual, 
he threw down his wood carelessly, making a great 
deal of noise ; and as he went out of the room with a 
heavy step, muttering to himself some sullen words, his 
mother observed he was out of patience, and said to 
him with a low voice, ' You won't have to bring in 
wood much longer for poor Lucy ! ' 

" On the next Sabbath evening I was called into the 
room to see her die ; (and here I will confess that 7~ 
was that same unkind, impatient Frank.) She was 
lying on the sofa, her head being supported by her 
older sister. Her eyes looked very glassy — I never 
had seen eyes look so. Her nostrils expanded every 
time she breathed, and being very faint, my mother was 
fanning her violently ; but it was all in vain ! She 
breathed shorter and shorter, her eyes gradually closed, 
and, as if dropping to sleep, she sunk back into her 



4 MEMORIAL. 

sister's arms — dead ! Her gentle spirit had left us 
forever ! It was the first time I had ever seen one 
die, and I wept aloud. 

4i Lucy was a very kind and gentle sister to me, and 
when one of the neighbors who had come in, told me 
I never should see her again, I wept more bitterly still. 
I wept every day till she was buried, — when the neigh- 
bors came in to see the corpse ; when my brother meas- 
ured her for a coffin ; when the minister talked to us 
at the funeral ; when she was let down into the grave, 
which was dug for her in the garden ; and never did I 
weep more than on the evening of the next Sabbath, 
when the family all sat silent around the fire, — not all, 
for Lucy was not there ! 

" I grieved much at the loss of so good a sister as 
she was to me. But one thing grieved me more than 
all else; and what do you think it was? It was the 
remembrance of my impatience and fretfulness when I 
threw down the wood, muttering ; and of my mother's 
sorrowful words, — — ' You wont have to bring in wood 
much longer for poor Lucy /' These words were now 
like burning coals in my bosom. I could not banish 
them from my mind. I thought of them all day long, 
and then they haunted me in my dreams. Oh, how I 
cried that I might see her once more ! Yes, though 
she was cold, and could not hear one word, nor tell me 
that she forgave me, yet I wished to whisper in her 
ear how sorry I was, and that I did not think of what 
I was saying, and did n't mean to grieve her, and now 
wished her to forgive me, and love me again as she 
used to do. 



CHILDHOOD AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 5 

" It is now seventeen years since that happened, and 
yet it is as fresh in memory as anything that happened 
yesterday. That one act has cost me more sorrow 
than any other act of my life. It seems as if God 
punished me every day for it ; for every day I think 
of it, and it makes me unhappy. 

" I hope my sister forgave me at the time, and I 
hope too that God has forgiven me, for I now think it 
was a very great sin, and I have often asked him to 
forgive me." 

When the " Frank " of the preceding story was 
about twelve years of age, there occurred an incident 
which deeply moved his heart in a different way, and 
one to which, years afterward, he was accustomed to 
look back as the turning-point in his moral probation. 
The following account of it, from his own pen, was 
written in 1850: — 

" Having been sent on an errand, early one morning, 
to a neighbor's house, I arrived there just as the father 
was preparing for family worship. Instead of asking 
my errand and then sending me back as soon as might 

be, Mrs. H invited me to take off my cap and 

wait till after prayer. I consented more willingly than 
she suspected ; for I had great confidence in the piety 
of both, and somehow hoped that good would come to 
me from being with them in so sacred a service as 

their family devotions. Mr. H had a peculiarly 

thoughtful, deliberate, and earnest manner in prayer. 
I could perfectly understand every petition, and I felt 
sure it was a sincere petition. During all the prayer, 



6 MEMORIAL. 

I stood in one corner of the kitchen, leaning against 
the wall, with my face hid in my cap. I do not now 
recollect that there was any special allusion to me in 
the prayer ; but he who prayed for us seemed to be 
so near to God, and to unfold his goodness to me in 
such a light ; there was such a reality about it that, 
altogether, it was more than heart could endure. I 
wept in penitence and grief. I prayed, if ever I 
prayed ; and if ever I was heard, it was in that un- 
spoken cry for mercy. I was too young to know 
whether I was a Christian or not ; indeed, I did not 
think I was for some years afterward ; I only knew 
that I felt toward my Saviour as I had never felt before. 
But as I now look upon the event, and as I have 
looked upon it for years, it seems to me clearly to have 
been the turning-point in my probation, the eventful 
moment to me. For years I have regarded it as the 
occasion of my happiness as a Christian, and of what- 
ever success I may have had in my ministry." 

At what time Mr. Hosford first had evidence that 
satisfied his own mind that he had experienced the 
" great change," there are now no certain means of 
determining. He did not make a public profession of 
religion till more than six years after the eventful 
prayer which so deeply affected him. While he was a 
member of Dartmouth College, and in the nineteenth 
year of his age, he united with the Congregational 
Church at Hanover, N. H. When asked to give 
some account of his religious experience, he replied, 
"I grew up into piety by baptism, religious training, 
and the grace of God." 



CHILDHOOD AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. J 

Mr. Hosford never ceased, through his whole earthly 
sojourn, to bless God for the circumstances in which 
his early life was spent, for the Christian parents who 
instructed him in the faith of the Gospel, and for the 
rich -rural scenery that so largely contributed to the 
happiness of his youth. His frequent visits to " the 
dear spot" among the hills of Vermont, and his many 
allusions to it in his letters, evince an undying and un- 
decaying enthusiasm, remarkable even in a nature so 
childlike in its attachments. 

In 1849 he wrote: "Pleasant news to-day from 
my childhood's home, to which place my attachment 
seems strong and sacred as ever. No place do I so 
long to see at all seasons as that home. None floats 
so constantly before my vision, and to no place am I 
indebted for so many pleasant memories and delightful 
associations, as to that ; and I grieve to think how 
different, in all probability, will be the circumstances 
under which any child of mine will grow up, from 
those of my own youth. 

" I feel as if the whole warp of my soul's fabric 
would be taken out, were I to lose the remembrances 
and influences of a virtuous, industrious, peaceful home 
among the ever-varying scenery of the country. 

" Now how different must be the structure of a 
mind and heart fashioned and developed in a hired 
house, in the changing community of a village or large 
town, in a monotonous and undulating country, which, 
as I look upon it, makes me feel something as I do 
upon the deck of a smoothly rolling vessel. 



8 MEMORIAL. 

" Were not Providence somewhat concerned in plac- 
ing me here, I should feel like asking for a location 
where duty would be consistent with delight, and use- 
fulness in my calling be cheered by a daily luxuriating 
amid the beauties and still more beautiful associations 
of a mountain home. Aside from the joys of true con- 
version to Christ, I could ask no richer inheritance for 
a child than such a constant remembrance as I now 
have of my childhood and youth at home." 

In the spring of 1849, he writes from North Thet- 
ford : " The enjoyment of this visit is indeed unusually 
intense, by the thought that my health may be giving 
way, and I looking on all these scenes for the last 
time ; nor will 1 deny that a hope in Christ gives me 
more quietness and peace in anticipation of such an 
event, than I have ever had before. 

" Living amid these scenes is a luxury. . . . What joy 
a meditative saunter among them imparts. All thanks 
to the God of my childhood through a pious father 
who early gave me up in baptism, that while many 
things remind me of youthful follies and sins, I recall 
no gross transgressions or vices, whose every thought 
would sicken." 

At Haverhill : " What few thoughts and feelings I 
ever had which gave me much pleasure, are such as 
could not exist or arise except in solitude. It would 
seem as if the tastes I formed in early life among the 
mountains of Vermont would never be outgrown." 

"Sept. 30, 1849. Walked over the scenes of ear- 
liest childhood, and was sadly happy. The old road, 



CHILDHOOD AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 9 

now a cultivated field, in which the front yard is also 
lost, — the old house now long without a tenant, par- 
titions torn down, glass broken and windows boarded 
up, doors nailed, cupboards empty, with here and there 
a relic so significant of an experience altogether forgot- 
ten ; I walked through and through its rooms, and 
lived over my childhood again, except that the thought- 
fulness of manhood gave it a deeper tinge. In one 
room, mother tells me all her twelve children were 
born ; and in that same room my two sisters died since 
my remembrance. This latter fact affected me most. 
One of the most potent as well as most sacred influ- 
ences under which I live, is the remembrance of de- 
parted kindred and friends, among whom none are 
more vivid in my recollection than these two sisters ; 
the one amiable and quiet as the flower at sunset, the 
other earnest, conscientious, and energetic, as sterling 
Christian principle must ever be." 

" Nov. 30, 1850. In Wordsworth's ' Prelude/ no- 
ticed his frequent mention of the scenery of his child- 
hood, and its happy effect upon his mind. I feel it all 
myself, and thank anew the Providence that ordered 
my lines to fall to me in such a place as my native 
home." 

Years later, he writes of the changes in his child- 
hood's home thus : " The fields still smile, never more 
lovingly, but the hands that once tilled them are dust. 
The brook still murmurs its sweet soothing music 
across the farm, but the more musical voices of those 
who used to play with him [me] along its willowy 



10 MEMORIAL. 

banks or among its smooth pebbles are silent forever. 
Under the same shady trees where he and his school- 
mates played, and around the same cool spring where 
he and they knelt to drink, other merry children now 
drink and sing, who perhaps never heard the name of 
the stranger who stands weeping at the sight. That 
graceful wavy line of hill-tops along the twilight sky, — 
oh, how familiar it seems ; how it annihilates the long 
and wearisome pilgrimage which he has made since its 
image was first imprinted on his tender mind." And, 
thinking himself young again, he adds : " And now for 
the soft hands I used to press, and the sweet voices I 
used to drink in, and the moist, deep eyes that used to 
look on these scenes with me, — show me the way to 
their home But his heart-melting appeal re- 
ceives no answer save from the .numberless snowy 
fingers, oh, how many of them, standing up from that 
sacred enclosure across the fields, ' God's Acre,' as 
piety calls it, where almost the whole generation of 
his contemporaries are now gathered in silent, peace- 
ful society. 

u And on the landscape, as I look, naught do I see 
unchanged remain, save the rude cliffs and chiming 
brooks. To me they make a heavy moan of early 
friendships past and gone." 

Such was the boyhood and the boyhood's home, 
which the boy and the man alike so invariably honored. 
" Our sweet, green, birdy, flowery, country home." 
" This sweet summer vale, full of trout and pickerel, 
and robins and arbutus." " These cool, silent, religious 



CHILDHOOD AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 11 

woods." " The rejoicing country, beautiful and fra- 
grant with flowers, and exulting in sunshine and bird- 
music, sends greeting to the toiling, sweltering, prosaic 
city." These, and expressions like these, abound in all 
the correspondence of his life. 

To complete the picture of that loved home, and the 
fond lover of its delightful scenery and associations, it 
is fitting that we introduce the words of a beloved sis- 
ter, written since the lamented brother's death : — 

" Our old homestead once gave shelter to grand- 
parents, parents, and eleven children. With its low 
but ample roof, small windows, and oaken floors, how 
friendly it looked out to us children as we clattered in 
at sunset from winter's school, where we spent so many 
hours of dulness. Soon spring came timidly on ; we 
skip out from the highway to stand on the warm earth 
beneath the ' Old Pine.' We hear the bleating of 
flocks. Motherless young lambs call after and follow 
us. We go back and hug them up once more, and 
after the days become warm, how they amuse us as 
they circle around the smooth field in a pretty chain. 

" Can one count the bare foot-paths, kept smooth by 
young feet, that led out from the ' Old Red House ' ] 

" On a smooth, warm slope near the well-curb, 
we will visit the gosling tribe, in their low, three-cor- 
nered pen. Here, so green and gold, they lie sprawled 
out in the soft sunshine, or dip in and out the clear 
water. Tn the sultry summer morning they seek out 
the path to the cool swamp. What a happy life these 
gentle creatures led, as they leisurely spat over the 



12 MEMORIAL. 

sweet, moist turf. Young feet are waiting to run and 
bring them up at sunset. Oh ! the memory of those 
lute-like voices ! Sweet home ! I have but to close 
my eyes and look out to yonder orchard. There it is, 
meekly seated among apple and cherry trees, patiently 
awaiting all comers and goers. 

" Low red roses come blushing up under the little 
windows ; cinnamon roses too, the same our grand- 
mother admired, and parcelled out to her little friends. 
Next to roses we loved the low lilac-bush, whose pierc- 
ing smell was so refreshing. We thought of the 
spring morning when it was brought from a kind 
neighbor's and planted here. See the morning-glories 
swinging over the great door. Little hands planted 
and watered these. Now they come suddenly out, 
wide open, perfect. These must be visited and counted 
anew each morning. Happy, happy childhood ! when 
one can love things so evanescent. 

" Over this orchard the low grass was spotted with 
daisies and buttercups. Sweeter yet to the memory 
was the narrow foot-path winding across, and vanish- 
ing, at the low fence, into the highway. Over this 
silent path, each in turn took his course as he launched 
out into the great world, and by this, all came back, as, 
at set of day, our parents watched our return. A few 
bounds brought us to the brook-side, the meadows, 
overspread with elms and butternuts, whose tall grass 
was gay with lilies. And now to the bank of the Con- 
necticut. 

"Musing by this silent stream we gather shells, 



CHILDHOOD AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 13 

leaving all human anxiety for a future day. Sweet 
thoughts come gushing up at the name of ' Potato 
Hill,' its sugar and apple orchards of early time. In 
the clear, cool morning of spring, we watch the first 
streak of sunshine along the western hill-tops. Ready 
and waiting, we string out, following father through 
woods and over mountain. We then merge into the 
solitary hill-road. We reach the summit, and sit wea- 
ried down before the old log-house with stone chimney, 
whose light had forever gone out. We feel awed as 
we tread softly up to the broken door. 

" To the north and east a glorious view opens wide 
before us ; and in clear, fine weather, the ' Franconia 
Hills ' shine out like walls of alabaster. A soft, moist 
field lies before us, and, beyond, the low woods, into 
which we hastily disappear until sunset. Within these 
woods the slant rays of sun never enter but in mid- 
summer. Here stood the old wigwam, the open fire 
and boiling-kettles ; and here, sheltered from winds, 
we loitered out many a pleasant April day. 

" Again, while the autumn days are shortening, the 
slow ox-teams are early seen climbing up the hilly 
road. Joyous children again string along the path ; 
we walk and ride by turns. 

" So many young hands give the work a lively turn. 
The carts are heaped with the gold, russet, or red fruit ; 
but the sun is already behind the tall pines before the 
whole train is winding down the rough road. We 
have not forgotten mother and home, left behind. So 
we gather up a few sweet herbs, and soon meet her at 



14 MEMORIAL. 

the gate. Too tired to lay plans for the morrow, we 
go silently to rest. 

" Dear, indulgent parents ! How evenly they seem 
to have held the balance amid distraction ! While 
seeking to mature the elder children, the cry came, 
' Room in thy heart, mother.' True to the last, little 
Benjamin was welcomed in, pleased with his place and 
lot. He was from infancy up the most powerful of 
all in drawing hearts after him ; so gentle, so lowly, all 
can answer who knew him. With this sweet lamb of 
the flock, our parents proceeded as indulgent grand- 
parents sometimes do ; but, happy for him, love guided 
aright. To him laws were needless, himself a law ; so 
he slid forward year upon year, the same self-poised 
child, boy, and man. Nothing stirred up the slumber- 
ing fire in the old man's heart like a glimpse of the 
lad as he returned from abroad. 

" His first sorrow, when ten years old, could never 
be wiped out. During this year our two grown sisters 
obeyed their final summons, and were laid in the front 
yard under the willow-tree. 

" But the grief of his manhood was called out in the 
fall of an elder brother. The relation between these, 
though not spoken, was tender and very touching. 
The elder lived to see his early hopes perfected in the 
younger, then let slip the golden links, for others he 
loved to gather up, and crossed over, as we believe, 
through darkness into light. 

" Respecting this elder brother, the younger wrote : 
4 Oh, the sad recollection of that rare brother ! Have 



CHILDHOOD AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 15 

been thinking more and yet more sadly of him since 
his release, and, for aught I see, shall go on to the end 
of my life regretting him. This life to him was in 
part a failure, inasmuch as he had more talent and 
ambition than most men ; yet not a failure at all as 
regards us younger children. His spirit of enterprise 
raised the tone of reading and thinking in us children, 
and early set the wheels of thought in motion. Had 
his electric powers, so remarkable, been modified and 
mellowed by religion, he would have surpassed his 
age.' 

" Again I say, dear home of our childhood, how 
sweet the memory of thy by-paths and solitudes, ever 
fresh, ever new ! 

" How primitive to launch out, we cared not whither, 
across fields and meadows, or down the hrook-side, now 
blue with spring violets, or where honeysuckles hung 
themselves out on the high warm bank, and the sweet- 
brier grew up in beauty close to the highway. More 
than all these, the dear society that beguiled the way- 
side walk. What a painful want comes back as we 
revisit these scenes now. Now, reluctant, we move 
forward ; each step draws out a sigh. Our dear one 
seldom rode, and I can recall no scene in which he 
shared, without tears for his early fate. Often I seem 
to sing with him again, — 

'Return, David, return ; 
E'en the fields and the valleys thy absence do mourn." 

" Dear lost one ! we stretch out our arms to thee ; 
they come back empty, and we say, ' How is the strong 
staff broken and the beautiful rod.' " 



16 MEMORIAL. 

The following communications from Rev. E. F. 
Slafter, of the American Bible Society, and Rev. L. 
Thayer, of Windham, N. H., both townsmen and 
early friends of Mr. Hosford, will be found appropri- 
ate in this chapter : — 

Rev. and Dear Sir, — In your note just received, you re- 
quest me to communicate any reminiscences of the boyhood of 
my departed friend, and I hasten to comply, so far as I am 
able, with your request. 

My acquaintance with the late Rev. Benjamin Franklin Hos- 
ford commenced when we were boys, though at first it was not 
very intimate. His father's farm was in the northeast part 
of Thetford, Vermont, while my father's was a mile north of 
the centre of the same town ; and we were five miles apart by 
the nearest way. We both attended worship at the old Muni- 
cipal Meeting-house, for so it may be called, as it was the prop- 
erty of the town ; and, with the exception of a very small parish 
on the northwestern boundary, it was the only one from the 
first settlement of the precinct ; and had been held together 
and sustained against all encroachments for more than fifty 
years, by the wise but exclusive policy of the celebrated and 
revered Dr. Burton. Down to the period of our boyhood, the 
internal arrangements of the old meeting-house were the same 
as they had been from its first erection. The families were 
seated by some principle of seniority ; the eldest were placed 
nearest the pulpit, and thus passing off by a sliding scale, leav- 
ing the young, quick-eared farmers near the door. The pulpit 
being the post of honor, was flanked on both sides by the vil- 
lage doctor, the lawyer, and more wealthy merchants, irrespec- 
tive of age, thus setting aside the controlling principle in the 
general arrangement, in favor of a wholesome respect for dig- 
nitaries. The galleries were devoted to the young men, the 
young women, and the smaller boys and girls, each sex occupy- 
ing its respective gallery. A police force of from six to ten 
tithing-men was conveniently disposed to keep order in this 



CHILDHOOD AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 1J 

juvenile assemblage. Under the surveillance of this police, 
and the profound metaphysics of the astute Doctor, we had 
little to do except to keep clear of the tithing-men, and study 
each other's characters. I think I knew every boy in the par- 
ish, so far at least as to have formed a very clear idea of the 
calibre of each, intellectual, moral, and physical. In this way 
I had known, for several years, young Hosford, my future 
schoolmate and life-long friend. In 1830 I was placed by my 
father in a country-store at the centre of the town. Near by, 
on the Ompompanoosuc River, was a set of flour-mills. To 
these young Hosford, then perhaps twelve years of age, was 
sent, as was the custom of farmers' sons, with the " family grist." 
During his stay he paid me a visit, and our intimate acquaint- 
ance fairly commenced. After various themes of juvenile con- 
versation had been disposed of, he inquired with very deep in- 
terest, if I had the cent of the date of 1814. I immediately 
produced the precious coin. He examined it with great care, 
and at length proposed to purchase it. I had already heard 
that it contained a quantity of gold, and was not prepared to 
set a price. It was examined and reexamined, and finally 
a " quarter of a dollar " was offered for it. But the examination 
and the liberal offer both impressed the owner that the coin 
must be exceedingly valuable, and the glittering " quarter " was 
reluctantly declined. He turned away with disappointment, 
leaving the owner in doubt whether he had not lost an opportu- 
nity that would not again recur, and the sequel proved that the 
doubt was well founded. As neither of the parties ever be- 
came distinguished bankers, this " gold speculation " was not 
looked upon as proof that " coming events cast their shadows 
before," but was often referred to with great merriment in after 
years, as the beginning of a golden friendship. 

Soon after this we became schoolmates in the academy of 
our native town. There was little incident in the years we were 
there together, that can be placed on record. His character 
was not one to develop incident. He was not bold, dashing, or 
erratic. His nature was of too high a type for this. He pur- 
3 



18 MEMORIAL. 

sued patiently the beaten track, but there was a glow of inter- 
est and subdued enthusiasm in whatever occupied his mind. 
The dullest routine of study, when he entered upon it, appeared 
to change its character as by some magic power ; its sombre 
hues all disappeared ; and the rugged path seemed luminous 
with a bright June sun and fragrant with sweet June flowers. 
He was two years before me in his course, and I often thought, 
as I listened while he was reciting his lessons, how easy it 
would be, and how much I should enjoy my studies, when I 
should arrive at the same stage. It mattered not whether he 
was giving the irregular forms of a Greek or Latin verb, dem- 
onstrating a proposition in geometry, or performing a problem 
in algebra, it was always done with such a singular grace and 
beauty, that it did not seem to be work, but the merest play. 

He had a natural taste for aesthetics, — a quick eye and ear 
for everything beautiful in Nature and Art : his field of observa- 
tion in the latter was limited, but he revelled at will in the 
former. He delighted in studying the laws of Nature as he 
Saw them unfolded in the flower, the velvet leaf, the massive 
tree, the tiny insect, and in all the higher forms of animal life. 
He was never impatient of solitude. He always came home 
from a lonely walk with some new food for thought, some fresh 
theme for conversation. 

He was endowed with a sportive humor, with a very keen 
sense of the ludicrous. He was no mimic ; he had very little 
histrionic skill in its ordinary form, yet his perceptions were so 
vivid that he often impressed you with his sense of the ludi- 
crous as no actor could. He was never bitter ; there was not a 
particle of gall in his nature. I can never forget the exquisite 
manner in which he declined the Latin vox, after the style of 
a raw country boy, of a peculiarly deep, guttural voice, who 
persisted day after day in declining it as a regular noun of the 
third declension, " Vox, voxis, voxi, voxem, vox, voxe" and then 
followed a convulsive laugh, showing how fully the faux pas of 
the awkward lad had taken possession of him. 

During the period anterior to his entering college, to which 



CHILDHOOD AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 19 

this notice solely relates, he had not made any public profes- 
sion of his religious faith, but his life and conduct, to outward 
observation, was perfectly blameless. No member of the 
church was more uniform in the observance of all outward 
Christian duties, or exhibited more of the spirit of the Master 
than he did. Amid all the conflicts common to young men 
in their school days, in our societies and literary clubs, I 
never saw him in anger ; I never knew him to complain of ill 
usage, or heard him speak unkindly of a fellow-student. I am 
very confident that among all the young men with whom we 
were associated, there was not one who openly expressed or 
secretly entertained an unfriendly sentiment towards him. 

As I have already intimated, there was very little incident 
in his boyhood illustrative of his character, which can be placed 
upon record. 

From my earliest acquaintance with him, there was a grad- 
ual, harmonious, and symmetrical development of all the 
elements of his character, into the strength and maturity of 
manhood. The child was, in a very eminent degree, the father 
of the man. Those who only knew him in his riper years, in 
whose minds his character stands out clear and distinct, have 
only to diminish the picture, contracting all in just proportion, 
taking away much of the discipline of his powers, his experi- 
ence of the world, and the influence of grave studies, and they 
will have a complete outline of his youth, — serene, gentle, fresh 
in thought and feeling, loving and beloved. 

I have thus given you, my dear sir, as you desired, my inir 
pressions of the earlier years, together with certain circum^ 
stances that aided in moulding the character of my dear de- 
parted friend, whose memory I shall always cherish, and whose 
virtues I shall always wish to imitate. 

I am very faithfully and truly yours, 

Edmuxd F. Slafter. 

Boston, July 10, 1865. 



20 MEMORIAL. 

Mr. Thayer gives his " early recollections " of his 
friend, Mr. Hosford, as follows : ■ — 

" We were natives of the same town, living some two mile s 
apart. My first acquaintance with him was not gained in the 
usual manner, by often seeing him and finally speaking, but 
was sudden and all at once ; and yet it was continued while he 
lived. Before I knew him, I heard of his feats in music on the 
bass viol ; how he would play correctly when so short that he 
could not equal the height of the instrument without standing 
in a chair. I first met him on a fourth of July, or other holiday 
in the summer, when all the people ascended Thetford Hill to 
' attend services in the square-pewed meeting-house, where the 
eloquent Dr. Charles White held forth, and the old divine, 
Asa Burton, stood at his elbow in the pulpit, and stared him 
in the face whenever he uttered a striking passage. This was 
the distinguished Doctor in Metaphysics, who baptized us both, 
laying his thin, soft hand upon our consecrated heads. Frank 
was two years younger than myself, and was at this time under 
the care of some female friend, while I enjoyed the liberty of 
roving where I thought fit. We found ourselves in the same 
pew, in a distant part of the gallery, and had large talk with 
each other ere we knew what we were about, both before and 
after the services, and not a little in the midst of them. I can 
recall no joke, nor pun, that passed between us, but the whole 
interview was a feast of wit, according to our ideas at the time ; 
he seemed pleased with me, and certainly I was delighted with 
him. I remember it only as a laughing time, and know not 
why it stamped itself so indelibly on my memory. The occur- 
rence is as vivid to-day as when it first took place, and the 
result of it was a friendship as permanent as our lives. I have 
no clew to our exact ages ; I infer they must have been con- 
siderably under ten years. It was not long, however, before 
he came to the academy in our neighborhood, and began 
to fit for college. I went to his room as an old acquaint- 
ance, while, as yet, he was a stranger in the school, though I 



CHILDHOOD AND CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 21 

had not then commenced my studies. The entertainment 
which I oftenest enjoyed with him was, some new fact in nat- 
ural history, or some little experiment in philosophy ; one with 
the light near the window is still freshly retained. No scheme 
of ambition, nor the least ill-will towards any one was expressed, 
but the ever-present love of Nature was foremost and last. 
* " During his college course his religious experience became 
more decided and manifest, and he united with the church in 
Hanover, which was one of the first things that revealed his 
religion to others ; for there was no marked conversion in his 
case, but piety from his youngest days accompanied him, all 
the way from the cradle to the grave. His scholarship as well 
as his piety improved during his whole preparatory course, and 
he stood higher in his class as a Senior than as a Freshman . 
He was never vicious, but gentle and retiring; he sought to 
conquer by little surprises, rather than by a bold and strong 
encounter, and was a general favorite among all classes. His 
college days were marked by quiet but superior scholarship, 
and he ranked higher at Andover as a writer, than at Dart- 
mouth as a linguist. I remember that his wit took a more de- 
cided development in the theological seminary ; and, especially 
during the last year of his course, he was known among the 
students as the writer of keen hits and sharp points. I have in 
mind the style of his anniversary piece. Professor B. B. Ed- 
wards, sitting upon the platform, listened very attentively 
through the whole, and when he came to a sharp saying, he 
would slowly turn his eyes upon the audience with his signifi- 
cant smile, as much as to say, ' He has hit them now.' 

" His wit was the more pleasant as it was most natural, and 
chimed in with the studies and teachings of Nature. This ac- 
quaintance with natural objects and associations, and love of 
Nature herself, was a family, as well as individual, trait. The 
family was known of others as lovers of natural scenery, and 
delighting in wild haunts, and in hunting as a pastime, if not a 
passion. 

" Another item in Mr. Hosford's home-culture of the studies 



22 MEMOKIAL. 

of Nature, was the family custom of i sugaring off ' in the open 
forests ; not that they alone made sugar from the hard or rock 
maple, but that they connected with it social tendencies, which 
formed a kind of education. The teachers of the academy 
were sent for, and friends from a distance were invited, and a 
social festivity or celebration was enjoyed, that was elevating 
in its character, and not merely satisfactory to the appetite. 
A musical instrument could easily be added at any time, which 
made the occasion more than ordinarily choice and select. It 
was in part owing to such influences, that Mr. Hosford ex- 
pressed that fine shade of meaning so common in his perform- 
ances, whether literary or religious, and which formed one of 
their principal attractions. 

" These incidents and tendencies of his early life have been 
hastily, though not carelessly, gathered up by his life-long 
friend, . Loren Thayer." 

" Windham, K K, November 8, 1865." 

Such -was the child ; and it is believed that those 
who follow him through the scenes and labors of his 
subsequent life, will see truth as well as beauty in the 
lines, — 

" The child 's included in the man, 

And part of him forever ; 
The Past still in the Future lives, 
And hasis to its being gives, 

Not it, but of it ever." 



CHAPTER II. 



THE PASTOR. 



We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives 
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best." 



" There are, in this loud, stunning tide 
Of human care and crime, 
With whom the melodies abide 

Of the everlasting chime ; 
Who carry music in their heart 
Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, 
Plying their daily task with busier feet, 
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat. 



Keble. 



Of Mr. Hosford's life in college, we can only 
say, in addition to what has been said by his early 
friend, that, having pursued his preparatory studies in 
Thetford Academy, he entered Dartmouth College, at 
Hanover, N. H., in the autumn of 1834, and gradu- 
ated there in 1838. 

He immediately entered the Theological Seminary 
at Andover, where he graduated in 1841, having been 
"approbated " by the Andover Association, April 13, 
of that year. 

He was accustomed to speak of his associations 
with Andover and Andover friends as very delightful. 
And those who knew him there have the most vivid 



24 MEMORIAL. 

recollections of his sparkling wit, his warm friendship, 
his refined tastes, and his earnest and consistent piety. 
Some of the dearest attachments of his life were formed 
on that sacred " Hill," which so many ministers of the 
gospel love to look back upon as the most sacred spot, 
save one, known to their earthly experience. 

After leaving the seminary, Mr. Hosford spent be- 
tween three and four years in supplying vacant pulpits, 
in various places. With quite too much modesty, self- 
respect, and real ability to push himself into notoriety, 
and too much principle and piety to make a display of 
his powers and his " great sermons" in order to excite 
the admiration of the congregations before which he 
stood as God's ambassador, he had, humanly speaking, 
but a feeble prospect of a settlement at all befitting his 
qualifications. Many a reader, without knowing the 
writer, relished and still remembers the keen, yet truly 
Christian articles, which, during the last year of his 
unsettled life as a preacher, he furnished for the " Bos- 
ton Recorder." The articles were entitled, " The Un- 
settled Minister to his Brethren " ; "A Dream of an 
Unsettled Minister," and " Hints to Destitute Churches, 
by an Unsettled Minister," over the signatures respec- 
tively of " Luke," " Joseph," and " Mark." They 
would all be articles for the " times," if republished 
in 1866. 

But the longest night is succeeded by morning. 
Mr. Hosford at length found his place. Having ac- 
cepted a call to become the pastor of the Centre Church, 
Haverhill, Mass., he was ordained May 21, 1845. 



THE PASTOR. 25 

He used, in subsequent years, to speak of this event as 
very strange. The people had heard other candidates 
whom they were not inclined to call, and he had 
preached to other congregations who were not inclined 
to call him, and over whom he did not desire to be 
settled ; but, in this case, the interest was mutual on 
the very first day, if not the first half day, of his preach- 
ing. The people felt that he was the minister for them ; 
the minister felt that they were the people for him. 
In Mr. Hosford's own expressive words addressed to 
the council that dismissed him, after being in the pas- 
toral office more than eighteen years, " the preacher 
and the people tvere mutually smitten at first sight" 

Having been married, July 28, 1845, to Miss Mary 
Elizabeth Stone, daughter of Luther and Mary Eaton 
Stone, of Saxonville, Mass., Mr. Hosford was at 
length fully introduced to the great work of his life. 
With what views and feelings he met the calls and re- 
sponsibilities of this work, the following pages will 
show. 

Passing his records of experience during the first 
three years or more of his pastoral life, as suggesting 
nothing of special importance, we find him writing — 

Jan. 10, 1849. " This day attended upon, and 
participated in the exercises of dedication of a new 
church in Bradford. Mind was less absorbed in the 
services than in thoughts concerning the utter inad- 
equacy of all church architecture, and music, and stately 
services, to realize our idea of God ! After all these 
efforts how far short do we fall of the Great Incom- 



£6 MEMORIAL. 

prehensible ! 6 Where is the house which ye build 
unto me, and where is the place of my rest % ' 

" But while all such efforts reveal the distance and 
the greatness of Jehovah, so far beyond and above them 
all, they are still of great value in awakening juster 
apprehensions of Him, and stronger yearnings of soul 
for a still higher and better knowledge of Him. We 
leave the edifying stateliness of such services with more 
than a Job's anxiety, 6 O that I knew where I might 
find Him ! ' 

"Jan. 11. This evening is my weekly conference. 
I tried to carry out the idea of yesterday, taking the 
last chapter of Isaiah for the theme, especially the first 
and second verses. Dwelt on the idea that true hu- 
mility springs from just views of God's greatness and 
glory. Hence God dwells in the soul of the humble 
and contrite, because that state of soul presupposes 
honorable views entertained of Him. God blesses the 
humble, not merely because of their humility, but 
rather because of those views of Him which begat 
humility. 

"Jan. 13, Saturday eve. Another week gone! 
Another Sabbath with its labors near ! These work- 
ing-days, marking off my fleeting existence, — how fast 
they succeed each other ! May it not be in vain that 
they come so frequent to remind me of the necessity of 
doing life's work while it is called To-day. I some- 
times detect myself longing for those peaceful, careless 
Saturday nights, that bring to the cotter the promise of 
rest from labor and anxiety, — experience so opposite 



THE PASTOR. 27 

to that of the minister ; but I strive to banish the wish, 
(so soon as I become conscious of it,) for two reasons : 
First, it may savor of discontent with what I acknowl- 
edge to be an assignment of Providence ; and, second, 
lest Heaven grant my wish by deposing me, through 
sickness or otherwise, from the honor of active labor 
and toil in this ministry, — a thing which I truly depre- 
cate. Better than all, that I be diligent and cheerful 
in my present place, and, at the same time, willing to 
leave the whole disposal of the future with God. 

ft Finished an unfinished sermon to-day on ' One 
thing thou lackest,' itself lacking one thing at least, 
namely, unction, Christian spirit, love to Christ, zeal 
for souls, or whatever you please to call it. I think I 
can much easier convince a hearer that he is a sinner, 
and in danger, than I can persuade, induce, move him 
to become a Christian. This lack runs through all 
my discourses, because it exists before, in my life, my 
soul. I must endeavor to realize better the idea of an 
6 Earnest Ministry' 

"Jan. 14. Preached [at East Bradford] in the 
morning upon God's sovereignty, with more than usual 
interest and delight to myself. I mark with pleasure 
an increasing tendency in my mind, of late, towards 
the fundamental truths in theology, and I become more 
and more convinced of the superior practical benefit of 
the judicious preaching of these doctrines, over that of 
others. My preaching, studies, and meditations have 
probably been too little upon these foundation courses 
in theology. I hope, however, it is only the common 



28 MEMOKIAL. 

« 

error of youth, which riper years may perhaps re- 
move. 

" I may also make another record here, (although it 
reflects somewhat upon my former ministerial life,) 
namely, an increasing delight in preaching. It is still 
difficult for me to make tolerahle preparation for the 
pulpit, (much more difficult, I apprehend, than with 
most preachers,) but when once made, I count it both 
an honor and a privilege to deliver the message, when 
men will hear. And now, in view of having spoken 
twice to-day to a congregation of strangers, whom I 
may never see again until the judgment, there is com- 
fort in the thought, — the hope, that some one truth 
may find a fruitful lodgment in some one soul, to the 
honor of my Lord, and to my own surprise in the day 
of accounts. Such a hope is one of the precious com- 
pensations which the Master makes to his laboring ser- 
vants, in consideration of their being denied the sweet 
repose, the delicious quiet of Christian meditation, 
which the pious layman enjoys. 

"Jan. 15. Monday and Mondayish; wearied and 
irresolute. Spent most of the day in small matters 
about the house, of little importance, and requiring 
little effort or care on my part. 

" I should be greatly troubled at spending Mondays 
thus, were there any important duties which I were 
able to perform in such a state of mind and body, or 
were I able to avoid that lassitude which seems to come 
of Sabbath labor and excitement. So here I make a 
lamentable record, — a day lost, or spent to no impor- 
tant and useful purpose. 



THE PASTOR. 29 

"Jan. 17. Have been occupied to-day chiefly in 
preparing for a Lyceum Lecture upon Astronomy; 
and, from attempts to represent in a diagram of dimin- 
ished scale the relative distance of the heavenly bodies, 
planets, stars, and nebulae, was led into a pleasing and 
not profitless train of thought concerning the vast ex- 
tent of the material universe, its order, glory, &c, and 
of the superior glory of Him whose garment is so re- 
splendent. What is man, amid such magnificent dis- 
plays ! And yet is he not something, since he is a part 
of this vast scheme, and since he can rise to a knowl- 
edge of, at least, some things throughout the whole 1 
He kuows much, and is greatly wise, if he knows only 
how small a part he himself is in the great drama. 

"Jan. 18. Were it possible to give our conceptions 
of God a definite form, a real, personal existence, how 
infinitely it would fall below God, and how most of us 
would probably be shocked, at seeing what an idol — 
eidolon — we had been adoring as the ever-blessed 
God ! And how can we ever fear, love, trust, or serve 
Him as we ought, so long as our views of his desert 
of such service from us are so sadly imperfect \ Un- 
fold, O God, more and more of thine unsearchable ex- 
cellence to my view, that I may feel more and more 
powerful motives to become like Thee, and to lead 
others to a saving knowledge of Thee ! 

" Saturday, Jan. 20. Greatly hurried to-day by 
professional labor and much care, with various secular 
distractions. I would fain convince myself that these 
lesser concerns are a part of my appointed work, and 



30 MEMORIAL. 

as such, will somehow be made to play into the great 
scheme of things, and so have part in great results ; 
but after all my own and others' reasoning upon the 
subject, there is left the dreadful possibility, not to say 
probability, that these things are recorded in God's 
Book as ' Trifles ! ' I know, indeed, that Paul was 
sometimes c in a basket,' but am I a Paul % 

" The Sabbath nears ! Oh for some definite intima- 
tion from above, as to what I shall say on the morrow. 

"21st. Wearied out, exhausted, — having con- 
ducted public service three times, — a course ruinous 
to health, and fatal to that rest which is necessary to 
the proper keeping of Sabbaths, but a course to which 
I seem to be driven. 

" £2d. In visiting the sick s have been struck with the 
great variety of diseases by which God brings about 
the separation of soul and body. Each has his own 
sorrow, and those best for him. I remember the re- 
mark of an excellent Christian woman, lingering along 
under that most dreadful disease, the cancer, saying she 
would not exchange it for any other. It was her 
Father's commissioned messenger to her, and the best 
one for her. Therefore she was satisfied. Have also 
been struck with the fact that God sometimes spares 
the aged after usefulness is ended, and the suffering 
when they can do nothing but suffer ; while, on the 
other hand, He strikes down the strong and the useful, 
or dashes the joys of the happy, as if He would pre- 
serve and exercise his sovereignty in the matter of sick- 
ness and death, as in everything else. * Where you 
can't unriddle, learn to trust ! ' 



THE PASTOR. 31 

" 24th. A day spent between distractions of things 
sacred and secular. The chiefest matter of deliberation 
has been, the proper time when it may be best to begin 
to be systematic with a young child, or administer what 
might be the beginning of correction. I concluded 
that the ' wisdom profitable to direct ' is wisdom of 
another kind, or of a higher degree, than I at present 
possess. 

" 25th. Busy all day, partly, however, in attending 
to interruptions. My busy-ness has left me little time 
for thought. 

" 26th. Lyceum again. The lecturer endeavored to 
prove that we are the fourth race, at least, who have 
inhabited this country, leaving traces, &c. Anglo-Sax- 
ons, Indians, Mound-builders, and Northmen. All 
well and beautiful, if it be true. ' Important if true ! ' 
But a very few isolated facts are a slender support for 
such a theory. Great thing to steer clear both of in- 
fidelity and credulity ; great thing to so control an en- 
thusiastic mind, as that it shall not run into extrava- 
gances. Perhaps one brought up in the Orthodox faith 
is more liable to excessive conservatism than to the op- 
posite extreme. Heaven keep me docile to all new 
truths, but slow to adopt errors or whims upon mere 
speciousness. 

"Jan. 28th. Sabbath evening. Three services to- 
day. Not as wearied physically as usual ; but some- 
what anxious and uncertain (as I always am under sim- 
ilar circumstances) about the final result of preaching 
such discourses as to-day's, namely, ' Quench not the 



82 MEMORIAL. 

Spirit ' ; ' One thing thou lackest.' I greatly desire to 
know how often such truths should be presented from 
the pulpit, in order to the best effect upon the hearer. 
My present views rather incline to the presenting of 
doctrinal discourses, which lay a broad foundation for 
practical inferences, rather than such alarming texts 
and subjects as the above. The Holy Ghost, interested 
alike for the truth He inspired, and for the souls for 
whose good it was inspired, be my constant Teacher. 

" 29th. A prosaic, volitionless, powerless, and, I 
had almost dared to add, duty-less Monday ! I won- 
der if God intended that his people should ever keep 
his Sabbaths by such unremitted, toilsome ivorkings as 
many ministers and Sabbath-school teachers experience. 

" 30th. In reading from the ' Missionary Herald,' 
to-day, an elaborate essay upon the Chinese language, I 
was struck with the indebtedness of the literary world 
to the labors and researches of some of our modest 
missionaries, albeit the world, in its wisdom, affects to 
despise the labors and the usefulness of Christianity. 
Shall Christianity always be thus slighted % 

" 31st. Again humbled and confused by thoughts 
of the extent and grandeur of the universe ! Again 
encouraged and animated by the thought that I am 
able to walk over such an expanse of glory, know some 
of its features, call it mine, and know, too, that my 
spirit will still be young (God grant it may be happy 
also,) when all this magnificence shall be wearied with 
shining, and ask and receive a furlough from its great 
Governor. Is not man as exalted in his nature and 



THE PASTOR. S3 

capacities as he could be with safety to the universe ] 
Ere eternity shall end, will not man, in heaven, crowd 
close upon the attributes of Divinity? (I say it rever- 
ently.) Certain it is, he will transcend our present 
conceptions of Divinity. 

" Feb. 4th. Sabbath evening. The morning dis- 
course on the Prayers of Christ was not without profit 
and interest to myself, at least. And I think I can 
perceive an unusually good attention generally, to any 
subject or train of remark relating particularly to the 
Saviour. Herein is great encouragement to evangeli- 
cal preaching, as well as a suggestion as to our duty 
so to preach. 

" 8th. I get time to think only on the run. How 
distracting, and even dissipating, the endless diversity 
and rapid succession of duties to which these latter days 
subject a minister ! No wonder we wear out so soon, 
and accomplish so little except in little things ! 

" 15th. Lack of sleep has helped on my natural 
dulness to such a degree that the sluggish pool of 
thought stagnates. But the examination of two candi- 
dates for admission to our church has awakened me to 
some thoughts, and withal has some quickened my 
hope ; for past all hope is the mind that finds no food 
for reflection in such an event, and thrice dead the hope 
that is not quickened thereby ! May it be the precur- 
sor of larger blessings ! 

" 16th. Lyceum lecture this evening. Subject, St. 
Peter's Church, Rome. Interesting and instructive. 
Was impressed, during the description, by the thought 



34* MEMORIAL. 

of the great indebtedness of art to Christianity, in that 
its finest specimens of painting and architecture have 
been suggested by it, to say nothing of poetry. Was 
also again impressed with the thought of the desirable 
and very great influence of a noble specimen of art, in 
awakening more elevated thoughts. I felt it during 
my imaginings of that church, and I have felt it before 
when looking on Allston's great painting, or listening 
to a fine concert. And while this train of thought 
awakened a very intense desire to visit the Old World, 
that desire was sweetly restrained by the thought of 
how much I am able to enjoy while staying at home, 
and hearing or reading of these things. I am quite 
sure my enjoyment here exceeds that of many who are 
permitted to gaze upon these things. 

" 18th. Wearied with three services ; preached with 
some interest, and read, after service, with greater 
delight than ever before, Bunyan's account of the pil- 
grims awaiting, in Beulah, the summons from across 
the river of Death, to go and meet their Lord and 
Saviour. It seems to me the most beautiful part of 
the book, and one can hardly read it without forget- 
ting, for the time, that death has any terrors. 

"March 18th. Sabbath eve. Wearied and very 
hoarse. Unusually happy this evening, partly from 
my own meditations, and partly from reading a Life of 
the excellent Baxter. How full of suggestions ! How 
sadly does my own ministry contrast with his ! But 
he had a double baptism, above us. First, an uncom- 
mon soul. Second, the trials of an unsettled, stormy, 



THE PASTOR. 85 

persecuting period, such as would burnish up any metal 
capable of a polish ! The great Teacher make me 
more like himself, and more like his eminent servant of 
whom I have read. 

" £Oth. Have reflected to-day upon the argument 
for inspiration of the Scriptures, drawn from Christ's 
example ; his approval of the Jewish high regard for 
them. Christ was either a deceiver, or the rationalist 
is a blasphemer. 

"%2d. Subject of remark this evening, — The in- 
tercession of Christ, — giving rise to a pleasant and 
profitable train of thought, to myself. By interceding, 
He seems to be doing over and over again His great 
work for us ! What a picture of His love and our 
need ; what consolation, what encouragement to prayer, 
and to intercession for others ! But oh, after all, how 
very far short of the truth all our conceptions of these 
sublime realities must fall ! 

" April 15th. At Thetford. A peaceful Sabbath of 
perfect rest ! What a luxury ! Would that lay people 
could appreciate the value of such a passive rest, com- 
pared with that rest which an active, laboring minister 
enjoys ! Hope I may not be so passive and restful 
during my vacation as to make no progress whatever. 

" In reading, to-day, ' An Earnest Church,' I was 
struck with this idea, namely, — It is peculiarly the 
Christian's duty to show forth the moral attributes of 
God, in distinction from, or in preference to, the natu- 
ral attributes, which can be shown by other creatures 
equally well ; while no other creature on earth can show 



36 MEMORIAL. 

forth the moral attributes of Jehovah, especially his 
holiness, but Christians. Hence the unspeakable im- 
portance of a godly life and conversation. This is the 
Christian's peculiar work, and a great work, noble, 
honorable, quite sufficient for life and to call forth all 
his powers. To this may I be more and more devoted. 

"June l£th. Visiting Andover and Boston in a 
part only of to-day, and doing business in both places ; 
reading all the time in the cars, and not being wearied 
unusually to-night ; these things impress me with the 
truth that we are living fast, much of life being 
crowded into each day, and of course the greater need 
of watchfulness in regard to influence ; the greater need 
of haste in finishing life's great work. While the day 
is full of facilities, it is also fraught with obstacles 
to thought, reflection, self-inspection, and spiritual 
improvement. God has set one thing over against 
another. To be a good Christian at this day, requires 
more grace than with our fathers. A minister who 
would maintain his position as a leader of the flock 
and a teacher, must act quickly, and yet not act till 
he has ' looked this way and that.' 

" June 30th. Saturday night. I propose by God's 
help to resume my pulpit labors to-morrow. A long 
rest has strengthened my voice ; would that I could 
say, my heart also ! 

"Sept. 13th. Yesterday, saw at a funeral a most 
affecting exhibition of a mother's love. Thrice during 
the short interval before service, did she go into the 
adjoining room to take a final leave of her ' darling, 



THE PASTOR. 37 

darling daughter ' ; bidding her husband to kiss her as 
she did ; and when she had resumed her seat after the 
third adieu, she whispered to her husband, ' I want 
to go right back again.' 

" O death, how deep is thy sting ! O grave, how 
unrelenting thy victory ! How soon does sweet become 
bitter, and hope change to grief and despair! And 
yet, how peaceful and even beautiful is the death-sleep 
of a little child ! And how many alleviating thoughts 
a fruitful mind can suggest for the afflicted parent. 
Reading in this connection ' Solace for Bereaved 
Parents,' I was impressed with the idea of the great 
amount of joy that Christian hope has distilled from 
tears, and the many beautiful things (like flowers) that 
have sprung up from the graves of children. Verily, 
Christianity sheds ' light on little graves ' ; not only by 
the strong assurance of the child's salvation which it 
imparts, but also by its influence upon the mind and 
heart of the mourner, by reason of which influence he 
is enabled to have, or is capable of, such tender, deli- 
cate, and elevated feelings. 

" Sept. 16th. Brought safely through another Sab- 
bath's labor, and happy in being able to stand in my 
own place all day. More and more do I account it a 
privilege to preach the gospel, and little remains to be 
desired except that the word preached accomplish its 
end. I have thought I was more successful in present- 
ing the appropriate truths to Christians, than theirs to 
the impenitent. My best endeavors to win them to 
Christ hitherto have seemed eminently unsuccessful. 



38 MEMORIAL. 

I can seem to counsel inquirers with some degree of 
satisfaction to them and myself ; but my appeals to the 
impenitent seem not only lost, but, many times, even to 
harden impenitence. This has cost me many a care, 
and still needs looking to. 

" 17th. In reading from Maitland's ' Church in the 
Catacombs,' was impressed with the simplicity and 
cheerfulness of the epitaphs inscribed by early Christ- 
ians upon the tombs of their friends, and, while sensi- 
ble that this is the true spirit of Christianity, could not 
but feel that it is lacking in the Church of this day. 
6 Verily,' in the language of one of the same, living 
when Christianity was proscribed, — 'Verily, he can 
hardly be said to live, who lives in Christian times.' 
Lord, send us not persecution again, but send us the 
graces that have usually attended upon persecutions. 
The seeds of piety are doubtless slumbering in Christ- 
ians, but they need a warmer — hotter climate in order 
to germinate well. 

" 18th. Attended the funeral of another child, 
where six days ago I was on the same sad errand, — 
two within one week, — one a few years since, and 
only one left ! Why is all this, while neighbors' fami- 
lies are unbroken % The little remaining boy said, 
' Father, two coaches are coming ; I want to go and 
ride ' ; little thinking why that family ride was got up. 
' Is the minister going to pray % ' whispered he. Yes, 
my thoughtless child, he is going to pray that God will, 
in great mercy, make up to you the very great loss 
you have met with, in the death of that careful elder 



THE PASTOR. 39 

sister, and that you may so live as to meet that sister 
in heaven. 

" From this scene, made painful to parents by a 
child's death, I passed on to another, much more pain- 
ful by reason of a child's present sufferings. A little 
one who could not know its right hand from its left, 
yet suffering apparently all that its nature could suffer, 
and infinitely more than you would suppose possible to 
such a child. Here is material for deep reflection. 
Not that any amount of reflection will solve the diffi- 
culty, but that reflection may help to understand the 
lesson God would teach us by the event. 

" 20th. Another of those most trying of all a min- 
ister's experiences to-day, namely, — a sudden sum- 
mons to counsel an impenitent man, as suddenly sum- 
moned to prepare to meet his God. To hear him con- 
fess and bemoan his former obstinacy, plead for for- 
giveness with the God whom he had always thought 
he could face fearlessly, — so righteous he had been, — 
and then go the same round again, with groans from 
bodily suffering interspersed ; to see all this, and then 
leave him to die, with the dreadful fear that in his dis- 
tress he would exercise something else than simple faith 
in Christ, and so die relying upon a false hope ; this 
is care and pain indeed ! 

" To have come to this scene from the sick-bed of 
an aged person whom I could address only through a 
trumpet ; and then to hurry from it to the funeral of 
a poor colored girl, who had died homeless and friend- 
less, but who, in her last hours, expressed a desire to 



40 MEMORIAL. 

see her brothers, who were she knew not where, only 
that they were far off amid the sorrows of slavery; 
and then to go from this last to the funeral of a little 
child; — this has made out a day's labor, which, if it 
could impress others to whom I ministered as deeply 
as it has worn into my own body and mind, would be 
a day long to be remembered. 

" It alleviates the distress of the labor very much to 
know that my presence was desired. Surely it is no 
small compliment to the truth I preach, to have me 
called to administer it where others are hardly endured. 
It is something surely to be associated in the mind 
with their last remembrances of earth. 

"£3d. Sabbath. At night too far exhausted to 
have those pleasant and vivid thoughts which the 
excited mind of a Sabbath evening sometimes gives 
rise to. This I regret, but cannot remedy. 

" £4th. Have been so much among the sick and 
afflicted of late, that I feel myself afflicted and sick. 
Surely I ought then to be better, and I think this part 
of my experience has not been without some good effect 
upon me. I have learned to sympathize with suffering 
as once I could not have done. Have learned, too, that 
there is deeper suffering to be sympathized with than 
I once supposed. Last week, on visiting a sick man, I 
thought I saw suffering in the eye of the wife as she 
anticipated being made a widow ; but, on visiting that 
widow this evening, she unfolded to me a tale of her 
experience, compared with which all that I before saw 
her suffer, or supposed her to suffer, was a mere noth- 



THE PASTOR. 41 

ing. And this has taken place under a thousand eyes 
near by, and no one has seen it but God's. All this, 
when many would have relieved the distress, could they 
have known it ; but all was kept and pondered upon in 
silence by that poor wife ! ' One half the world know 
not how the other half live.' How defective is Chris- 
tian charity, that it does not reach, no, does not even 
knoiv of its existence. 

"Nov. 16th. In hearing a geological lecture to- 
night, was reminded of the deliberateness with which 
God works and prepares for working. ' A thousand 
years he takes to lift his hand off.' Also was reminded 
of the fact that He makes the ruins of one system, after 
they have lain and fermented for tens of thousands of 
years, then open, just when most needed, an inexhaust- 
ible store for man. Query : Are the ruins caused by 
sin to be worked up in any such way, for the better illus- 
tration of God's attributes, or the greater good of the 
redeemed ? 

"Jan. 1st, 1850. Though altogether doubtful as 
to whether I may see the end of this year, still I am 
glad I do not know what the future will be. Whether 
life or death, better not to know it long beforehand, 
provided one lives daily as he should. I feel like for- 
getting the things behind, (except to repent of the 
wrong,) and pressing on to the Infinite that stretches 
out before me. 

" 7th. Monday eve. Nervous and sensitive to-day, 
as is quite common, from the excitement of yesterday. 
It consumes my life, I am quite confident, and yet 'tis 



42 MEMORIAL. 

not without its advantages. What a luxury it is to 
read good poetry in such a frame ! Coleridge's Hymn 
and Apostrophe to Mt. Blanc wellnigh overcame me. 
This may be considered as one of the perquisites of my 
calling, perhaps not too dearly bought by the corre- 
sponding deadness that is apt to succeed. 

" Feb. 5th. After a twenty days' calm on the dead 
sea of thought, .... the reading of Notices of Pepy's 
Diary, written at first in cipher and confidentially, but 
at last deciphered and published, awakened a train of 
solemn thought as to the manner in which the diary of 
every individual, written in cipher upon the world 
through which he passes, may yet, at some distant day, 
and when, perhaps, he has entirely forgotten it and all 
its records, be brought out and explained by the Judge, 
and thus our own footprints become evidences of our 
guilt. 

" Aug. 22d. I this evening confess to some revival 
of religious feeling, attributable, under God, to reading 
the Journal of Dr. Chalmers' religious experience, and 
especially the firm hold which his faith and affection 
took of the gospel scheme of salvation through Christ. 
This too I believe, but do not live in it and by it so 
that it tinctures every sermon and suffuses my whole 
experience. There are times when no worldly posses- 
sions, no, nor intellectual joys, seem the summum bonum, 
but holiness of heart, conformity to the spirit and ex- 
ample of Christ. It should always be so. 

' Oh for a closer walk with God ! ' 

" 25th. Sabbath eve. Unusually wearied by rea- 



THE PASTOR. 43 

son of unusual excitement, in preaching an exceed- 
ingly plain sermon to the negligent and worldly mem- 
bers of the church. I grow more and more distrust- 
ful of the good effects of such severe preaching ; and, 
in reading Dr. Chalmers of late, become confirmed in 
my convictions that it is the simple, affectionate, digni- 
fied presentation of the gospel doctrines, all suffused 
with the spirit of piety in the speaker, that is most 
effectual in saving souls, and elevating the standard of 
piety and morality in the Church. I am ashamed to 
confess that that is for me just the most difficult style 
of preaching. I will also record my full purpose to 
seek the grace that shall enable me at least to approxi- 
mate to that style of preaching. I only wonder that I 
did not discover, years ago, that more piety, more of 
the gospel faith and spirit, was the thing I needed. 
May a forgiving Heaven help me to redeem the time. 

" Sept. 8th. Sabbath. Preached to-day with little 
satisfaction to myself. Since service have been reading 
Chalmers with great satisfaction, and felt more than 
ever the necessity of being able to infuse the doctrines 
of the Cross into all discourses in order to do good to 
hearers. It is not so much dissatisfaction as pain, with 
which I now look upon many sermons that I have 
preached, and, I must add, many that I still preach ; 
for although fully conscious of their lack, I cannot sup- 
ply that lack by the mere will. Those doctrines which 
are needed must first pass experimentally through my 
own soul, ere they can enter into the spirit of dis- 
courses and characterize that spirit. God grant the 



44 MEMORIAL. 

grace needed rightly to divide His holy Word, — so to 
divide it as to honor His Son as the appointed Sav- 
iour for lost man. 

" Nov. 4th. Monday. Weary and sad from tax 
on nervous system yesterday. Funeral of a very ex- 
emplary sister in Christ ; in which service, from her 
character and that of her hushand, I was drawn into an 
unusually happy frame, considering God and the Sav- 
iour's great kindness to His dying and mourning chil- 
dren. Never before had so satisfying views of the all- 
sufficiency of faith in Christ, or, in other words, of the 
consolations of religion for the wants of the sorrowing 
soul in life. The luxury of this frame of feeling was 
greatly increased by that very nervousness that came 
of yesterday's labors. This excitability made my joy 
intense. I record this as one of the incidental rewards 
of the ministry, — a sort of compensation for excessive 
labor, and coming, too, at the very hour when most 
needed. Oh that when deep sorrow visits me and 
mine by reason of death, we may feel, as I to-day felt 
that every Christian might feel, in committing a Chris- 
tian friend to his sleep in Jesus ! 

" Dec. 14th. Deeply affected this evening at seeing 
a little child sick unto death, — an only and well-be- 
loved child ! My first thought was, ' Why is our own 
spared X ' and the thought awakened a sense of depend- 
ance on God, with a gratitude altogether unusual. 
Then came a gush of sympathy for the parents. Oh, 
could I bear up under the same trial ! I do earnestly 
beseech God, if it may be possible, to teach me what I 



THE PASTOR 45 

greatly need, by some gentler means than the death 
of my child or wife ! 

"March 18th, 1852. Have encouraged hope and 
peace to-day by reflecting on the universality of the 
Church of Christ (Eph. iii. 15), and considering my- 
self a member and minister of that, rather than of any 
particular branch. What if this one church fails ; the 
Church yet stands secure and glorious. What if my 
prayers do not seem to bring a blessing here ; is it cer- 
tain they bring a blessing to no remote part of the 
Great Family % How anxious should I be to know 
whether I am a child in that family ; and if I am, then 
how erect should I walk, and how steady and fixed 
should be my hope ! O God of Abraham, Isaac, and 
Jacob (three generations in the same family), grant me 
and my family a home in the House with many man- 
sions ! 

" 26th. Have been greatly pained for a few days 
past, on learning that very cold and even hard feelings 
have for a long time existed between some of the prom- 
inent members of my church, and which I had not 
once suspected. It seems to account for the alarming 
coldness in spiritual things throughout the church, and 
for the fact that our social religious meetings have for 
a long time been so very asocial. It also shows how 
little a minister may know of that which, in order to 
be successful, he ought to know best. . . . 

" Finished reading the Memoirs of Mary Lyon, and 
of Margaret Fuller. Interesting both, and for entirely 
different reasons. Interesting, as specimens of the two 



46 MEMORIAL. 

classes of character formed by or under the two relig- 
ious systems, — Orthodoxy and Unitarianism. Inter- 
esting, as showing the kind of character most current 
and most admired in each ; interesting, also, (Miss Ful- 
ler's) as showing the estimate which Unitarian clergy- 
men put upon mere intellectual culture in comparison 
with moral and Christian excellence. Three clergy- 
men-editors, — and not one of them, nor the subject of 
their remarks, drops the slightest word or hint as to 
the worth or importance of those traits which evangel- 
ical Christians all allow to be essential to Christian 
character and hope. I am glad thus to have seen an 
extreme representation of the effects of a system and 
culture which claims for itself so much in comparison 
with all others as Unitarianism in and around Boston 
does. 

" April 5th. Monday. Wearied and worn with 
the triple labors of the Sabbath, upon which were piled, 
to-day, duties to the sick and to schools, and the mind 
kept from rest by the appalling thought of Fast Day 
only three days before me, and, until this evening, I 
without even a subject or text ! But something will 
be — doubtless. 

' The darkest day, 
Live till to-morrow, will have passed away.' 

"11 th. Preached at Bellville, where there was 
some unusual interest in the congregation. This fact 
gave me a new and a very delightful interest in my 
services, and especially the sermon. How different it 
seemed than when I preached it to my own people ! 



THE PASTOR. 47 

How much more spiritual and powerful ! I felt happy 
that my subject was so nearly related to Christ, — 
' Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day,' &c. I do 
not remember to have felt so spiritual and peaceful be- 
fore, during all my ministry. 

" June 3d. Absent on a three weeks' vacation, not 
without profit or pleasure. Returned, I trust, more 
contented with my profession and my place. Mortified 
and ashamed of myself at having been a little disturbed 
by the fact that other ministers of my acquaintance had 
been flattered with 'calls,' larger salaries, &c, &c. I 
hope God will forgive me in this, and guard me from 
any repetition of it, on any account. Feel disposed to 
bend myself with greater energy and cheerfulness to 
my appropriate work. God help me to be a faithful 
minister of Jesus Christ, and, if pleasing to Him, a 

successful minister Was encouraged to find so 

many present at our weekly conference meeting this 
evening. May it prove a precursor of good. What 
could give me greater delight than to have pleasure in 
that meeting which has so often been made the most 
burdensome thing possible \ " 

In the summer of 1853, Mr. Hosford preached a 
sermon to his own congregation, which, on account of 
its supposed charges against the intelligence and morals 
of a certain class of artisans in the town, greatly roused 
and excited a large number who supposed themselves 
injured. The sermon, preached with the kindest and 
best intentions, was perhaps unintentionally careless in 



48 MEMOKIAL. 

some of its statements, and somewhat lacking in the 
preacher's usual discrimination ; but it was widely and 
persistently misunderstood and misrepresented. It is 
to a very severe handbill, circulated through the town, 
and evidently written under the influence of erroneous 
and highly excited impressions, that Mr. Hosford so 
candidly and so kindly refers in the following extract 
from a private paper, dated August 5, 1853: — 

" Have seen to-day a rejoinder issued by a shoe- 
maker, in defence from charges which he supposed I 
brought against his craft in a sermon, two weeks since. 
A review of the sermon convinces me that great care 
is necessary, lest a class be involved in a charge which 
may be true only of individuals in it. It also con- 
vinces me that no amount of care is sufficient to pre- 
vent all misunderstanding, especially where the report of 
what is said has to pass through two or three hands. 
I regret the misapprehension, since I had at heart only 
the good of the class most offended by what I said. 
How impossible for a finite mind to foresee all the con- 
structions which different minds will put upon the same 
thing ! If my judgment does not deceive me, I do find 
in me a growing desire after the simplicity there is in 
Christ, and to preach Him more, and all other things 
less. Sadly as I may still come short of duty in this 
particular, I am not so wofully deficient as I have for- 
merly been. I cannot but think that my Redeemer is 
drawing me unto Himself. Oh that I were more 
ready to run after Him ! I have now a strong ambi- 
tion to become a good Christian and a good Christian 



THE PASTOR. 49 

minister. The great and good Shepherd be merciful 
unto me. May His gentleness make me great." 

In 1854, Mr. Hosford wrote: — "All our sick are 

slowly convalescing except Captain A , who seemed 

to-day to give us all a presentiment we might not 
again meet in the flesh. It was a very pleasant, but 
very affecting interview How much more satis- 
factory than to have got off a popular sermon ! Oh, 
the work of the ministry, well done, is a blessed work ! 
I wish I could always feel its power and dignity. How 
wofully I fall short of it most of the time." 

Again he writes : — " Wearied with numerous labors, 
but not unhappy. I have dwelt much to-day [Sabbath] 
upon the privilege of being allowed to administer the 
sacraments of our holy religion to the needy and hun- 
gering souls. I have said the last consolatory words in 
public concerning what Christianity had done for Mr. 

M , and is now doing for him on high. I have 

applied the covenant of mercy in baptism to Mr. 

D 's youngest. I have offered, with the bread and 

wine, the rich benefits of the Saviour's death to my 
church and people, and, since that time, have visited 

and comforted the young Mr. G , who seems very 

near his departure. How precious the religion that 
comes with healing to man in his direst need, and how 
honored the minister of it ! Is it strange that of him 
who fulfils this ministry faithfully, the people say, 
6 How beautiful upon the mountains,' &c. 

" I summed up these matters in my concert remarks 
this evening, and was affected by them myself, however 



50 MEMORIAL. 

little others may have felt them. I sometimes think I 
am only just beginning to feel interested in the religion 
of the gospel. Certainly my interest in it is increasing 
daily. I desire to become a good minister." 

The following, though not given in the exact order 
of its date, is full of suggestion : — " On a late visit to 
the Athenaeum, in Boston, I was not a little puzzled to 
see a number of books on different shelves, with the 
strange title, ' SuccedaneiimJ on their backs. * I thought 
over the catalogues I had seen. I thought of the lit- 
erary world which gives notices of new books. I 
thought of the great antiquarian bookstore in Cornhill, 
which I had looked over from basement to attic, but 
could not remember ever having seen any of these 
books, new or second hand, or any quotations from 
them, or the slightest allusion to them in any way. 

" The first one that attracted my attention was stand- 
ing at the end of the Philosophical Transactions, and 
was the last volume upon that shelf. This led me to 
think it might be a sort of appendix to that great work, 
containing something of importance lately discovered. 
This thought was encouraged by what I conjectured 
might be the etymology of the name Succedaneum, — - 
i. e. that which succeeds to something else,— an ad- 
dendum, or something similar to it. But to solve my 
doubts at once, I drew it from its place, and, turning 
it around, found it a wooden Mock ! painted and lettered 
on the back like other books, and placed there merely 
to keep the other books on the shelf upright and in 
their places. On looking around I noticed them in 






THE PASTOR. 51 

several places, but never except where there were not 
genuine books enough to fill out the shelf. Having 
then a curiosity to know what might be the true sig- 
nificance of the word, and thus the design of the books, 
I took down a Latin lexicon, and found its definition to 
be, ' Coming in the place of another.' Of course, then, 
in this case it meant a wooden block, standing in the 
place of a genuine book. 

" The discovery set me thinking. I at once recol- 
lected having heard a pastor liken his church to his 
library, in which the various books were types of the 
different characters in his church ; for instance, there 
were Commentaries on the Bible, Mammon, The 
Golden Rule, Polemic Theology, The Advocate of 
Peace, Christian Assurance, The Broken Anchor, 
Christianity Demonstrated, Christianity Refuted, Pro- 
fession not Practice, Essays on Style, Guide to In- 
quirers, &c, &c. But what, thought I, could he have 
called this % Of what church-member is this a coun- 
terpart 1 Is it, thought I, (for he had often urged the 
duty of hearing for ourselves and not for our neigh- 
bors,) is it, in any respect, a type of myself] Does 
the great Teacher, whose Epistle I profess to be, and 
in whose library I have posted myself, consider me a 
Succedaneum there ? Is my name the principal part 
of me, and that name a deception \ Is it my form that 
gives me value I Am I most useful when I am stock- 
still 1 Am I valued chiefly because the roughest usage 
cannot injure me ? Am I here merely to fill up an 
empty space, — destined, of course, to be cast aside as 



52 MEMORIAL. 

soon as anything valuable is found to take my place % 
Have others quoted anything from me which will prove 
and perpetuate my worth when I am worn out ? Can 
I warm and enlighten others only by my combustion 
at last? Is my significance all upon the outside, and, 
for that poor semblance, am I indebted to paint % Am 
I most honored when my back is turned ? Are all my 
neighbors consulted as oracles of wisdom, while I am 
passed by as lacking even the merit of the sounding 
brass or the tinkling cymbal \ Or if any man, search- 
ing for truth, does happen in his simplicity to try me, 
is it only to turn away, muttering to himself, ' Were 
you not a great blockhead, you would be a great hypo- 
crite ' 1 Am I flattering myself that because I am in 
a goodly building, and in a goodly fellowship, I am 
therefore a genuine Epistle, and shall be saved with 
them \ What would be my worth if tried alone % 

" What sort of a library would it be, made up of 
Succedanea only ; and how would a preacher succeed, 
who had only such works to refer to, for illustration 
and authority ? 

" Not wholly useless are Succedanea, if they shall be 
the stupid occasion of driving home upon the conscience 
any of the above questions." 



CHAPTER III. 

THE PASTOR CONTINUED. 

u I venerate the man whose heart is warm, 
Whose hands are pure ; whose doctrine and whose life, 
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof 
That he is honest in the sacred cause." 

COWPER. 

The foregoing chapter covers only about nine years, 
and those the first years of Mr. Hosford's pastoral life. 
Though it furnishes a fair picture of his ordinary labors 
and experience during his entire ministry in Haverhill, 
it seems proper to introduce extracts from his letters 
and papers which shall better illustrate certain phases 
of his character not so distinctly brought to view, and 
have more special reference to his later years. 

Many who had but a slight knowledge of Mr. Hos- 
ford's inner character as a pastor and a friend, thought 
him unsocial and distant ; and some thoughtlessly 
ascribed his reticence to indifference or to the lack of 
kindliness of feeling. In a familiar sermon preached 
May 22, 1859, on the fourteenth anniversary of his 
ordination, he refers to his reticence, and to the views 
which some had entertained respecting it, in language 
which, besides laying open to inspection the pastor's 
heart, is interesting and important as an accurate pic- 



5i< MEMORIAL. 

ture of many a pastor's experience. No apology is 
offered for introducing a somewhat extended extract 
from a sermon, all of which would richly repay a 
perusal. 

" Another matter of personal interest to myself, and of prac- 
tical importance to you, I wish to mention, and that is, The 
want of familiarity on the part of the pastor with the people. 

" The idea seems to be that he is often distant and reserved, 
of a cool temperament, or absent-minded, or wrapped up in his 
own personal interests, to such an extent as to impair his relig- 
ious influence. 

" Allowing that half of this may be as alleged, (which is per- 
haps a large allowance for the popular and current impressions 
of this hasty age,) even this half is more than I am willing to 
have go forth without its proper qualifications and explana- 
tions. 

" In the first place, the draft which a constant ministry in 
one place makes upon the mind, is sufficient to burden it con- 
tinually. It is, most of the time, either weary from a work 
done, or anxious for a work to be done. Scarcely does it cease 
from one business, ere it is busy again collecting materials for 
use on the next occasion. Oh, how short and insufficient the 
sleep between Sabbath eve and Monday morning ! The mind 
is working at some doctrinal theory to be demonstrated, or 
some problem of practical improvement to be effected. It is 
rarely, for a day or an hour, free from such care. The burden 
betrays itself in the anxious look, the hurried gait, and an in- 
ability to join fully in the free, elastic pleasures of others. And 
hence, there is never anything like a solid rest or vacation to 
the mind of a minister, while remaining amid scenes that are 
continually reminding him of a great something to be done. 
There must be distance between him and these scenes, ere he 
can rest and recover, as other persons do. Here, therefore, is 
one apology that should be made for him. 

"Again, consider the burden of sorrows on his people's 



THE PASTOR. 55 

account, which he continually shares. He has a part in every 
affliction that occurs among all the numerous families of his 
congregation. He not only knows of them, but feels them ; he 
is not a mere observer of them, but is invited in to their 
privacy, to see how deep and sacred the sorrow is, and to pre- 
sent the gospel alleviations for it. And with a good minister, 
among a good people, this is no mere pretence of sympathy. 
It is a reality that takes strong hold on his tenderest sensibili- 
ties, — which sensibilities, instead of becoming hardened by 
use, only become the more lively. 

" Now consider how long, deep, and exhausting is any such 
scene to your own hearts ; and then imagine, if possible, what 
the effect must be of a repetition of something like this, with 
every month of the year, and for a succession of years ! 

" Then consider what a train of sad associations, like a group 
of mourners in their weeds, will people his mind as he passes 
around his parish. From this house was borne out a lovely 
and beautiful daughter, amid the heart-breakings of the family ; 
from that, a husband and father, dying without Christian hope, 
and leaving widow and orphans destitute of everything save 
industry, and virtue, and grief. In this house died the model 
husband and father, the venerated Christian and citizen, re- 
spected equally in Church and State, followed, with only a brief 
interval, by a help meet for such a man, — a family broken up, 
a house deserted forever ! In that, the young Christian wife and 
mother received her summons in such a day and hour as ' she 
thought not,' and behold, the house is left, to our memory at 
least, desolate till now ! And from this home and household 
have vanished, in the early morning of their life, all the children 
which God had given them, or so many sweet little ones that 
none but the bereaved parents attempt to remember them by 
name and order ; and from the next, as many and in the same 
circumstances, as if the holy angels were in rivalry to see from 
which the larger harvest of beauty could be gathered. 

u In that house I had part in a funeral service over a drowned 
brother and son ; in that, the same of a suicide ; here, of a man 



56 MEMORIAL. 

killed by a fall from a loft, and there, of a woman killed by be- 
ing thrown from a carriage. Here, I was called in to pray over 
the death-bed of a hardened transgressor, and there, over a 
woman that had been a sinner, — both anxious for salvation, 
crying for mercy, and so they passed to their account. 

" In houses without number have I seen ' the last of earth,' 
with many a Christian, of whose departure to their rest we 
never can think without a fresh consciousness of the void which 
their absence from the Church has caused. 

" A ministry of fourteen years calls a man, on such missions 
as these, to more than half the families and homes of his con- 
gregation ; so that no small portion of his living charge are 
associated with what they and he have lost, and with the soul- 
furrowing scenes which attended that loss. He not only, there- 
fore, is in tender contact with all the newly bereaved, but with 
those whose faces suggest afresh their former bereavements. 
He meets them in pleasant scenes, and when they seem to be 
happy ; and yet no glossings of present happiness on their faces 
can erase from his memory the deep traces of that sad day of 
their sad visitation. Such associations as these, at once most 
sacred and yet the most saddening to the spirit, are what a 
pastor's mind is chiefly peopled with, as he traverses his parish 
or mingles with his people. The walls of his memory are, as 
it were, lined around by memoirs and portraits of his best 
earthly friends. You can readily perceive that they must give 
a sober coloring to his spirit ; that he can never be what he 
might be in point of social gladness, had these facts never 
been ; or had he had no more to do with them than one of his 
people. A part of the great cloud of witnesses with which his 
mind is encompassed, are the dead, and they who are still 
mourning for the dead ; and hence his cheerfulness must always 
be that subdued cheerfulness which Christianity has in a cem- 
etery, — a joy amid sorrow; a hope smiling through tears ; a 
bright star shining amid the night. 

" Besides, a pastor is liable every day and hour to a sudden 
summons to some most sacred and solemn religious duty ; and 



THE PASTOR. 5/ 

if his heart be in his calling, he must be anxious not to be 
found, at any time, amid scenes or in a state of mind totally 
unfit for such a duty. The constant expectation of this, acts 
as a perpetual restraint. These coming events cast their 
shadows before. He is continually sobered by the thought, 
' T\'e know not what a day or an hour may bring forth ; there- 
fore let our hearts be always in order.' 

" I have heard of Christian ministers who made it a matter 
of conscience to unbend and be merry on their return from a 
funeral, in order that they might live and have health to attend 
the next ; but such a course has never won my convictions, 
much less my taste and inclinations. 

" I freely admit that the perfection of ministerial character 
would be, the ability to be most agreeable, sociable, and acces- 
sible in all common intercourse, and at the same time to have 
the deep qualities that would command and retain serious 
respect and confidence in the most sacred services ; and I ad- 
mit that some few — one in a hundred perhaps — attain to 
this. But, as I have no claim to that rare combination of oppo- 
site graces, and must therefore submit to a deficiency in one 
class, I have no hesitancy in choosing that the lack be in the 
social elements, needful in our common intercourse, rather 
than in those which are more strictly ministerial and needed 
in your times of trial. 

" Whenever I learn that I have failed to win the confidence 
of a person to a pleasant social familiarity, I am always troubled 
and grieved, but I try to submit to it as I do to other mis- 
fortunes, comforting myself that the defect is not fundamental, 
and, though it may mar the man, does not ruin the minister. 

"But should I learn that some anxious sinner, who had 
brought to me his burden, found only a cold reception and no 
sympathy or help ; or that a dying person craving religious 
strengthening, or an afflicted household pining for Christian 
consolation, could not cordially invite me there because of a 
general deportment and spirit which were incongruous with 
such high services, that would give me distress indeed ! That 
8 



58 MEMORIAL. 

were a defect for which there could be no compensation or 
apology. But as long as you have a ministry which is not 
charged with serious short-coming in this department of duty, 
your condition is not as unfortunate as it might be, were his 
deficiency on the other wing of his character. 

" Few people are so spiritual and Christian as to have no 
need that many things should be forgiven them on the score of 
the infirmities of the flesh ; and few ministers are so apostolic 
as to be able to minister to their own bodily necessities by 
their own hands, or work on among their people with the same 
steadfast courage and hope, whatever be the estimate placed 
upon their labors by those for whom they work. "We all need 
human sympathy, because we are human ; and we need some 
expressions of it, because we are not omniscient." 

In November, 186)2, when absent from home, Mr. 
Hosford wrote to the children and youth in the Centre 
Sabbath School : — 

"Dear Young Friends, — I have been sitting in my 
accustomed side-slip, interested as usual in all the exercises of 
your concert, and not less interested in your deportment, as 
indicating your feelings upon the great subject of your personal 
relation to God ; for you are what you are in regard to that 
subject. That is the chief, I might almost say, the only thing 
God looks at when He weighs you in the balance. 

" You have not seen me, perhaps have not thought of me 
during the whole evening ; but I have thought of little else 
than you ; and I have looked you all over again, searching for 
the serene smile, or the fixed eye, or the glistening tear which 
should say to me, — ' At last, this cold heart has melted ; ' or, 
'That teacher's patient sowing for years has now begun to 
bear fruit ; ' or, ' That sainted parent's prayer has now been 
answered ; ' or, ' The striving Spirit, so long resisted, so often 
grieved, has at last won this new trophy to Christ.' 

" I used to study your looks at the concert with great inter- 



THE PASTOR. 59 

est, but never with a deeper and tenderer one than during this 
hour. I read an unusual solemnity upon your faces, as well I 
might ; since one of your number, lovely and greatly beloved? 
has so recently gone up from your presence to give up her 
account, and to realize her new-found hope in her Saviour. 
And what report, think you, has she carried in of you and me, 
and of our improvement of our precious day of grace? — a 
question which makes me almost tremble to ask ! Oh, how 
much more she now knows of heaven than we ! And how 
much more deeply she feels on all these great subjects ! — but 
no more than they deserve from us all. You are asking your- 
selves, ' Who next, from our pleasanj: circle — I ? And if so, 
am I as ready ? Is the Saviour so mine that I could die as 
peacefully, His rod and staff comforting me ? ' 

" Perhaps the thoughts of some are wandering from these 
solemnities, or trifling in the midst of them ; and they will go 
home farther from their Redeemer than when they came, and 
with less of the Holy Spirit's help in their souls, if indeed He 
be not grieved away from them forever ! Oh, what will be the 
end of such a beginning ! God hath said, and I need not 
repeat it. 

" But from this painful thought, my mind hastens back to 
that child or youth, boy or girl, whose mind is to-night record- 
ing to itself the secret but strong resolution, ' From henceforth 
I follow my Redeemer ; ' or who is to-night feeling tenderly and 
deeply, as never before at a Sabbath School Concert, a trem- 
bling hope in Christ, yet still a hope worth more than worlds, 
the dawning of ' the peace of God which passeth understand- 
ing.' I must believe there are some such here to-night, and 
that a future confession will prove it true. My faith on this 
point amounts almost to vision. It is so, or it will be so, and 
my eyes shall see it before I die. So I rejoice in this new 
proof of a Saviour's love towards you personally, and of His 
approbation of our Sabbath School. In your blessings I too 
am blessed, and hardly less blessed than yourselves. 

" With these few words, fewer than usual on this occasion, 



60 MEMORIAL. 

not because my love towards you is drying up, but because my 
pen is stiff and slow, — with these words I close, only adding, 
in inspired words, my friendly and pastoral benediction : i The 
Lord bless you and keep you ; the Lord make his face to shine 
upon you and be gracious unto you ; the Lord lift up his coun- 
tenance upon you, and give you peace.' " 

The following, dated December £9, 186£, was 
written to be read at the Children's New- Year's Fes- 
tival : — 

u Dear Children, — some seventy-five or one hundred of 
you, I hope, — Please grant your pastor and friend one favor, 
namely : Blot out one hundred miles of cold distance which 
separate us ; imagine this house in which you are to be the 
parsonage, and Dr. Crowell to be me. Then gather all close 
around me as you used to do, or rather let me squeeze myself 
into the midst of your happy group, and then keep very still, 
while we talk together for a few minutes. Let me first wish 
you all a happy New Year. Let me then tell you how glad I 
am to see you once more together, so many of you, and all so 
smiling and happy. I have seen none so pleasant a sight since 
one year ago this dag, and every good little boy's and girl's 
cheerful face helps make it pleasant How long could a shep- 
herd keep his flock full without lambs ? Only so long could a 
superintendent keep a Sabbath School, or a pastor a Church, 
without good children growing up. Hence your superintend- 
ent and pastor look upon you with great interest and love. 
We love you not merely for what you now are, but also for 
what we expect you will be by-and-by. Will you then try to 
be as good children now, as we will wish you to become good 
men and women years hence ? The great and good Shepherd 
is still more deeply interested in you than we are or can be. 
Then will you try to be as good little Christians now as He 
wishes you to be ? Will you try to be ready to take a place in 
His Church when He calls upon you to do so ? or to go up to 
His heavenly home, if He should send His angels to call you ?. 



THE PASTOR. 61 

" To these questions I hope many of you will say seriously 
but cheerfully, ' Yes, if He will help me.' 

" Now as to matters of less importance : — Can you recollect 
any of the things you promised last year ? Who of you has 
tried to live up to that promise ? And who will try to live still 
better the coming year ? Who will promise, First, to be a bet- 
ter child ; Second, to be a pleasanter and more cheerful child ; 
and, Third, to try to make others better and happier ? Now 
will not this be a good resolution with which to open this 
new year ? 

" Can you remember any who were present last year, but who 
are absent to-day ? Can you recollect any one or more than 
one, who has gone up to be forever with the blessed Saviour ? 
And did their death make you a better child, so that you 
are in some measure ready to follow them to that happy 
abode ? 

"Now sing for me some sweet hymns, (why should not 
' Happy Land ' be one of them, now that some of your number 
have gone thither since this festival last year ?) then join with 
Dr. Crowell while he prays that God would bless us all. I 
will also try to join with you at that very hour ; and if in prayer 
your thoughts are with Jesus, they will be near where mine 
will try to be. We shall be very near to each other, though 
we may not see each other with our bodily eyes. Now, a good- 
bye for a while, from your true friend and under-shepherd. 
<Mizpah.' Let this be our motto while absent from each 
other." 

To a young man, a member of his church, in Wil- 
liams College, he wrote, January 17 - — 

"My Young Brother and Old Friend, — I had quite 
forgotten, until your letter brought it to mind again, how many 
' letters missive ' I had sent to Haverhill during your short stay 
there. Pray tell me how many times I said the same things 
over. And so you came, spent a vacation, and went away 
again without my seeing you ! I never anticipated this when I 



62 MEMORIAL. 

sent you to college with my blessing. I did not doubt in my 
thoughtless delight, that I should always be there to welcome 
you, and to rejoice in your progress. But Providence, wiser 
and stronger than we both, has stepped in between us ; and 
when He is ready, and not till then, shall we see each other 
again as of old. 

" I am sorry your visit at Andover switched your mind still 
further off from the ministerial track. Perhaps you would 
gather a different impression from Princeton, where they ' hold 
fast the form of sound words.' But if you complete your course 
under President Hopkins without being brought over to the 
profession which has done as much to develop him, as he has 
done to honor it, I shall give you over. The doctors then 
may take and dissect you ; or dry you, and hang you up as an 
illustration ! 

" Now, brother and son, the Lord be with you in all your 
labors, joys, and trials. Be loyal in heart to Him who has 
purchased you, and He will take tenderest care of you. We 
shall, I am sure, meet frequently at His mercy seat, and I can- 
not fear that we shall not meet at last in His presence, to go 
no more out forever." 

January 26th, he wrote to the younger members of 
his church : — 

" I am glad to hear that you have decided to resume your 
meetings, and that without any solicitation from me. I cannot 
but regard it as the result of the Holy Spirit's work upon your 
minds, that same Spirit who is making many youth in your con- 
gregation unusually serious. Both together seem to me to 
encourage special hope, and to call for unusual labor. Open 
your hearts to drink in that hope ; gird up your loins for that 
labor. Oh that you might see in full the blessing you pray for. 
But next to that is the waiting posture of soul, all prepared for 
the blessing, and ready for the work which it involves, — which 
state is a right state and a great blessing in itself, even if no 



THE PASTOK. 68 

other comes to the unconverted. But it will surely come to 
them, when you are ready and waiting and doing. 

" Could I speak to you personally this evening, I should take 
as text, Acts ii. 1, and say that it teaches, First, the spirit and 
manner in which you, young disciples of the Master, should 
feel and act towards each other, — ' all with one accord in one 
place.' Second, your spirit and manner with reference to the 
unconverted, — waiting in faith, and praying in faith, for the 
promised Spirit, the holy, living Power which at the same time 
revives Christians and recovers sinners. Like the primitive 
disciples, therefore, hang together and work together ; for to 
this end were most of you drawn, at one time, into the kingdom. 

"I will only add that to you, the younger members of the 
church, chiefly belongs the responsibility, the honor, and the 
privilege of looking after, and bringing in, those of your own 
age, and younger. They will take it more kindly from you 
than from the elders, and the Master will kindly assist in such 
efforts. Oh how I long to be situated as you now are, in refer- 
ence to saving or helping to save fellow-sinners who show a 
willingness to be saved, and are looking toward Christians for 
help ! I earnestly pray that you may all so act in this critical 
and hopeful hour, that you will forever remember this occasion 
with great delight." 

To his young friend in Williams College, he wrote 
again, February 13th : — 

" Now for the great question ; and what is it in essence, save 
a strife about one capital letter : ' Shall my honorable title be 
M. D. or D. D. ? Now anybody can see at a glance that there 
is a symmetry, a fulness and rotundity, an emphatic repetition 
of honor in the latter, which inheres not in the former. To be 
sure, I don't know how they feel upon one's back, having 
never worn either, but I know how they look upon the backs 
of others. Have you looked at the matter in this light ? 
' Hate to write ' ? Who don't, till they have learned ? 'T is 



64 MEMOEIAL. 

nothing when once you are used to it. ' Can't produce one 
sermon a week ' ? Then try two, and you will get along — as 
other folks do ! ' Coolness ' ? Just the sine qua non for a 
minister. Be nattered, abused, provoked, opposed, fussed over 
&c, &c, and ' take it as coolly ' ! Admirable ! Special quali- 
fication, alias a very loud call to the ministry ! To say nothing 
of the importance of that attribute in lancing dropsical self- 
righteousness, amputating unruly members, setting the bones 
of hearts broken, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul 
and spirit, &c, — is not this a field for a cool and steady hand ? 

"As to the delightful out-door exercise of the physician's 
life, let me say by way of illustration : — This morning at one 
o'clock, my brother, the doctor, was rung out of his warm bed 
and sweet dreams, dressed in the cold, harnessed his horse, 
drove four miles, and there he is still, now ten a. m. Delight- 
ful, extremely ! While the minister could lie on, all the live- 
long night, far into the rosy morning, then leisurely arise and 
breakfast, — no horse to feed, no pig to squeal, no sleigh to 
mend, ' no nothing I ' Is not this the true felicity ? Ask my 
brother (if you consider me an interested party) how he esti- 
mates the two in comparison. He will tell you, by all means, 
be a first-rate minister rather than a third-rate doctor. 

" Thus, at length, have I opened up this subject, as it lies on 
the surface of my mind. Glance-views. 

" Going down somewhat deeper into the subject, I would say 
that any dry or knotty theological point argued by you as well 
as you have argued the doctrinal side of this question, would 
make you a candidate for a D. D., ' or ere you was aware.' 
Some hungry parish would soon show you what is meant by a 
call to preach the gospel with a witness. As to abilities, &c, 
you are a poor judge either way as yet. But as to inclination, 
bias, bent, propension, you are a competent judge, for the pres- 
ent at least. And there I would let the matter rest for the 
present ; not torturing the mind with continual questionings 
and reexaminations, but, at the same time, keeping it open for 
future light. 



THE PASTOR. 65 

" Much as I should rejoice to see you a first-rate minister, I 
should experience nothing but rejoicing to see you a first-class 
physician. The latter has a broad and easy field for whatever 
of religious influence he has the talent and disposition to 
exert." 

To a parishioner who had been afflicted, he wrote, 
March 23 : — 

" Certainly your sickness did not cast any shadows upon the 
views which your spirit took of God's shining world abroad. 
His worlds and His works, as a whole, are very bright and 
happy. Sin has darkened but one small spot, and but a few 
souls comparatively. We are at present in an exceptional 
part of His realm, where we have to encounter sin and its' pain- 
ful consequences. Out of this department the gracious Re- 
deemer has opened for us a way of escape into the very pres- 
ence and home of life and bliss. And has He not also — oh 
wondrous mercy! — inclined your heart and mine, and the 
hearts of our wives and some of our children, to move on 
towards that world, through that way ? Let us never forget 
this marvellous grace which has visited us, and our households, 
which are more precious to us than our souls. Yes, brother, 
although you and I suffer, and perhaps with an inner anguish 
which no mortal knows or suspects, yet let us always remem- 
ber that in respect to our most valued and precious interests, 
He has been exceedingly kind and only kind." 

Four years previous to the date of the last extract, 
an event occurred which occasioned one of the severest 
trials of Mr. Hosford's ministerial life. The North 
Church in Haverhill was organized March 30, 1859. 
While the measure met his approval as one called for 
by the interests of evangelical religion in the place, 
there were circumstances connected with it which, in- 
volving as they did his parting with a large number of 



66 MEMORIAL. 

the beloved members of his flock, seemed to him for a 
time more than he could bear. Two days previous to 
the date of the organization, he wrote : — 

" We are all rather sober. Preached yesterday with labor 
of spirit. The old church have decided to send a delegate to 
Council, with remonstrance, &c. So we may have more of a 
scene on Wednesday than we have anticipated. Things are 
developing slowly to show that I had best not go with the new 
church. The matter is now entirely beyond a doubt in my 
own mind." 

On the morning of the day in which the Council 
met, he wrote : — 

" All well and cheerful except self, who am anxious for the 
day. I have no hope whatever of an amicable adjustment of 
the difficulty. The Council can't do it. The good Lord take 
care of his own Ark." 

On the day after the organization of the new church 
was effected, he wrote to friends in Vermont : — 

" Council sat yesterday, and ' in view of all the circum- 
stances,' &c, voted to set up a new church of eighty-two mem- 
bers from ours. Of course I feel something as you may sup- 
pose Adam to have felt, on waking to a sense of the awful 
vacuum in his side. An Eve is a beautiful creation, and much 
needed, but oh, this process of creating her ! 

" My own course is determined only for the present, or from 
day to day. I shall not hasten off; perhaps not go at all. I 
wait to see whether the pillar will go before, or whether it 
remains stationary over the door. 

" Two things seem clear to me : First, the old church must 
not run down, and will not. Second, I cannot show any suffi- 
cient cause for leaving them to (accept an invitation to) go to 
the new. Thus matters stand, and will stand until Provi- 
dence develops some movement. 



THE PASTOR. 67 

" I am homesick enough these days. The spring, together 
with these church difficulties, which have tasked my judgment 
and tortured my affections, have made me sigh, ' Oh that I had 
wings like a dove,' &c. I have not had an average of three 
hours' good sleep for three past weeks. But I hope for more 
rest now." 

In reference to the trial indicated in the foregoing- 
extracts from Mr. Hosford's letters, one of his parish- 
ioners writes : — 

" In all my intercourse with him, I have been deeply im- 
pressed with the uniformity of spirit manifested under the most 
trying circumstances. During the severe trials through which 
our church passed at the time of the l division,' I never saw 
him thrown off his guard, and in the decision of the most deli- 
cate questions, amid the most exciting scenes, he was calm, 
and decided, and just. I have never known an instance in 
church difficulties, where the contending parties both clung so 
affectionately to the minister." 

It is proper in this connection to record a few facts 
in regard to Mr. Hosford's success as a pastor. 

During his entire pastoral career there was in the 
church a steady growth. At nearly every communion 
service, some persons, newly born into Christ's king- 
dom, were admitted to membership. The glorious re- 
vival of 1858 formed an exception to this kind of 
growth. Over fifty persons were gathered into the 
church as the fruits of that calm and quiet, yet deep 
and thorough work of grace. This revival was alvvavs 
a source of deep delight and satisfaction to Mr. Hos- 
ford, giving him fresh strength and courage, and sus- 
taining him in the great trials that soon followed. He 
never could speak of it without deep emotion, and all 



68 MEMORIAL. 

his utterances concerning it were full of devout thank- 
fulness. 

At the time of Mr. Hosford's settlement in May, 
1845, the church embraced 168 members. During 
the fifteen years following, 170 were added. On the 
30th of March, 1859, and shortly after, 98 members 
were dismissed to form the North Church. This loss 
left a smaller number in the Centre Church than at 
the time of his settlement. But from this time onward 
the church received constant accessions, and in Novem- 
ber 1860, 40 members were received from the Winter 
Street Church, then recently disbanded. The member- 
ship at the time of Mr. Hosford's dismission, October 
26, 1868, was 252, a larger number than before the 
withdrawal of those who composed the North Church. 

In the conclusion of this chapter, it ought to be said 
that Mr. Hosford, though he never sought the popular 
favor, and in the common acceptance of the term was 
not popular either as a minister or as a citizen, was 
nevertheless held in profound respect by the whole 
community. While, as might be inferred from our 
knowledge of the man, he knew nothing of that policy 
and claptrap which, with some, is the secret of what- 
ever success or popularity they have, the uniform con- 
sistency and quiet shining of his daily life, both as a 
Christian minister and a Christian citizen, won, even 
from those who widely differed from him in sentiment, 
the highest confidence and the tenderest love. He was 
alive to all that pertained to the intellectual, moral, and 
physical wants of those around him, and he often said 






THE PASTOR. 69 

that his greatest success and most satisfying work were 
among the lowly, both in and out of his own parish. 

Yet among his last records, we find the following 
pathetic words : " Oh that I had begun my ministry 
with the notions concerning it which I now entertain ! 
But our most valuable knowledge comes often only by 
the experiences of mistakes and sorrows." 



CHAPTER IV. 

MR. HOSFORD IN THE PULPIT. 

" Are all such teachers ? Would to Heaven all were ! 

simple, grave, sincere ; 

In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, 
And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste, 
And natural in gesture; much impressed 
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, 
And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
May feel it too; affectionate in look, 
And tender in address, as well becomes 
A messenger of grace to guilty men. 
Behold the picture ! Is it like ? Like whom ? " 

COWPER. 

In permitting Mr. Hosford to speak mainly for 
himself amid the daily and ever-varying scenes of the 
pastor's life, he has given us also glimpses of the 
preacher. But he could not of course do more. 
Those who have known and appreciated him, are the 
best judges of his character as God's public ambas- 
sador. And it is not too much to say, that, in their 
estimation, Cowper's familiar and oft-quoted lines are 
rarely applied with more exact appropriateness to a 
modern New England preacher than to him. Never 
did a man more heartily abhor pretension, claptrap, 
and noisy emptiness in the pulpit than he. Never did 



MR. HOSFORD IN THE PULPIT. Jl 

a preacher more thoroughly despise the substitution 
of " philosophy and vain deceit," and " oppositions of 
science falsely so called," for the simple gospel ; or the 
putting of self in the place of Christ. Cordially and 
strongly, as well as intelligently, attached to the old 
doctrines of the Reformation and of the New England 
Fathers, which, in his inmost heart, he believed to be 
the doctrines of Paul, and, better than all, of Christ, 
he never swerved in defending them against all attacks 
and all threatening dangers on the right hand and on 
the left. Yet he never did this roughly nor coarsely. 
He was always the gentleman, as well as the ambassa- 
dor of God, both in the pulpit and out of it. Simple, 
yet original ; quiet, yet often very striking ; earnest, 
yet ever kind; keen, yet always delicate and dignified; 
pointed, yet never rudely personal, his sermons were 
deeply impressive, and always full of useful and serious 
practical lessons. 

The readers of the " Boston Recorder " will not 
soon forget a series of articles published in that paper 
during the winter and spring of 1857, upon " Great 
Sermons," over the signature " Cecil." The happy 
blending of satire with tender and earnest seriousness 
which characterized the articles, has not often been 
exceeded. They were very extensively read and dis- 
cussed in this country, and were reprinted in England ; 
and from various sources their author had abundant 
evidence that they accomplished much good. With 
an omission or modification of a single statement, to 
which a friendly critic called his attention, he became 



7& MEMORIAL. 

more and more impressed with the correctness and 
importance of his position, as expressed in the articles, 
as long as he lived. And never to his dying- day did 
the words of Cowper find in a human breast a more 
hearty response than in his : — 

" Of all ambitions man may entertain, 
The worst that can invade a sickh"- brain, 
Is that which angles hourly for surprise, 
And baits its hook with prodiges and lies. 
Credulous infancy, or age as weak, 
Are fittest auditors for such to seek, 
Who to please others will themselves disgrace, 
Yet please not, but affront you to your face." 

Nothing could be more unjust to Mr. Hosford, as a 
preacher, than to infer from his abhorrence of what he 
playfully calls "great sermons," and "great efforts," that 
he did not like truly great sermons, or that he could not, 
and did not often, preach them. It was not in his nature 
to slight any work he undertook to perform. "What- 
ever is worth doing at all is worth doing well," was 
the practical motto of his life. And this was espe- 
cially true of his preparations for the pulpit. Every 
sermon, if not perfect of its kind, bore the distinct 
marks of careful thought, worthy of the hearer's close 
attention. There was, indeed, such uniform excel- 
lence in his ordinary preaching, that while some of his 
hearers ceased to take special notice of his real ability, 
and a few perhaps never fully comprehended it, others, 
of more than the average culture, never ceased to won- 
der how a feeble man like him could write and say so 
much that evinced patient thought and careful prepara- 
tion. No sermon ever preached by him could properly 



MR. HOSFORD IN THE PULPIT. J3 

be called " small/' while scores of sermons, year after 
year, though not "great sermons," in the popular sense 
of those familiar words, were really great in everything 
but pretension and the noisy applauses of superficial 
hearers. 

An intelligent member of his congregation re- 
marked, soon after his death, that he had never 
received from the lips of any other preacher so much 
and such really important instruction as from him. 
Many others would bear a similar testimony. A lady, 
long one of his hearers, writes : — 

" One of the most marked characteristics of Mr. Hosford's 
preaching was the peculiar fullness and clearness of his views, 
and the beauty and tenderness of his language, when speak- 
ing of the future world, of heaven as the home and rest of 
believers, and the consummation of the interrupted joys and 
plans of this life. He seemed almost to have entered into the 
secrets of those things which are not seen, and to have his soul 
so filled with the ineffable glory as to want only the dialect of 
angels to reveal it to others. His eyes had seen the King in 
his beauty, and beheld the land that is very far off. Who that 
has heard him often cannot recall the light which shone from 
his eyes, and the meaning which animated his tones, as he 
dwelt upon these lofty themes ! On such occasions we felt 
lifted above the level of our wonted experience on the wings 
of his faith and spirituality, and permitted for a time to breathe 
the air of the heavenly city." 

Were it practicable, it would be both pleasant and 
profitable to introduce whole sermons as examples of 
the characteristics to which these testimonies of Mr. 
Hosford's hearers refer. In reading his manuscripts, 

one is specially struck with the tenderness and apposite 

10 



74 MEMORIAL. 

beauty of his illustrations of truth. In this he par- 
ticularly excelled* Yet, so unconscious of it was he 
himself, he ever longed to possess the very talent 
which others thought so prominent as an element of 
his power. And to acquire or to augment an ability to 
use it, as well as to gratify his longings for other rea- 
sons, he cherished, for years, a very strong desire, and 
often half matured plans, of visiting the Holy Land. 
It was, indeed, only after the progress of disease had 
placed the accomplishment of such a journey beyond 
all reasonable hope, that he finally abandoned the 
thought, or rather, as he said, " exchanged it for the 
anticipation of soon visiting the New Jerusalem instead 
of the Old." 
. It would be easy to multiply extracts from Mr. Hos- 
ford's sermons and correspondence illustrative of his 
views of truth and duty as God's ambassador to men. 
The following, from a sermon preached January 27, 
1860, at the rededication of the Centre Church, is 
sufficient, and well strikes the key-note of his whole 
ministry : — 

" Comprehensively, our creed is the Gospel, the whole Gos- 
pel, and nothing but the Gospel, Jesus Christ being our chief 
corner-stone. More specifically, the Pauline Theology, un- 
folded and defined by Athanasius and Augustine, in opposition 
to Arius and Pelagius ; still more exactly defined by Calvin, as 
opposed to the subsequent doctrines of Arminius ; and yet 
again by our own imperial Edwards, defined and defended in 
opposition to the loose Arminianism of his day ; — doctrines 
which have held their place in the religious affections of the 
Church, in spite of a most violent natural hatred of the same, 



MR. HOSFORD IN THE PULPIT. 75 

from the day when the Roman skeptic replied tauntingly to 
Paul's idea of God's sovereignty, ' Why doth he yet find fault/ 
down to the more refined, but less manly skepticism of this our 
day ; doctrines which have made converts of thousands who 
began to study them for the sole purpose of exposing their 
absurdities, — changing heart-hate into the strongest and ten- 
derest love ; the old primitive faith, in the line of which the 
great mass of piety, benevolence, reform, and even of cultiva- 
tion has been found for fifteen centuries ; the old rigid faith 
which has always in the end proved itself the most merciful 
and convenient for men; the old sovereign, inflexible faith 
which has always been both the parent and the protector of 
personal liberty ; the faith from which fallen humanity at first 
revolts, but to which it ultimately returns for that strong conso- 
lation which no easier faith can give ; from which the tide of 
popular sentiment of New England, for a quarter of a century 
past, has seemed to be ebbing, but back towards which it now 
is silently flowing ; our own ancestral faith, on which the first 
church in this town was planted, two hundred and nineteen 
years ago, — which has been preached by a succession of eleven 
ministers, believed in, relied on, submitted to, by six generations 
of good people ; a faith, for the love of which our Puritan an- 
cestors exchanged the delights of Old England for the bald 
rigors of the New, counting themselves enriched by the ex- 
change ; a faith, for the liberty and love of which a generation, 
within the memory of some of you, cheerfully repeated the 
sacrifices of the first settlers here, by leaving the old sanctuary 
home, funds, friends, prestige, and the good-wall of the village 
aristocracy ; doctrines which regenerate the character and con- 
trol the life as none others do, awakening strength and then 
clothing that strength with comeliness ; stirring up and yet re- 
straining the forces of the individual soul — thus at once ex- 
citing and regulating Reform; doctrines to which all minds 
turn, whenever the Holy Spirit of truth is abroad, and to which 
the stricken soul flies for comfort, when all other consolations 
fail ; doctrines strong, pure, regenerating, edifying, comforting, 



76 MEMORIAL. 

and we must add, sweet beyond all comparison with any of a 
looser type ; that system of religious doctrines whose central 
point is the Cross of Christ, as it is the centre of our religious 
experience, and as it is erelong to be the centre of interest to 
the whole world ; — these are the doctrines on which this 
church was founded, has been perpetuated, and still stands. 
As Ward, and Rolfe, and Phelps, and others have preached 
here, so should we preach, had we their ability. We have no 
scruples about standing here in the line of their successors. 
We have no fears that their ghosts will ever rise to reprove us 
for being covert sappers and miners under the strong founda- 
tions which they laid in a sterling wisdom and piety. 

" I trust I shall be excused for adding, in conclusion, a few 
remarks of a more personal nature, and pertaining to myself, 
as the minister of this church and congregation. 

" As to doctrinal views, we have said that we have nothing 
novel, original, or peculiar. Our reading and thought, our ob- 
servation and experience, have disclosed to us no essential 
looseness or absurdities in the doctrines of our ancestral faith. 
We have never felt personally cramped by them, ekher in the 
freedom of conscience or of speech. It has sometimes been 
suggested to us that our popularity, and therefore our useful- 
ness, would be increased by slightly loosening our theological 
girdle ; and we have always promised such improvement as 
soon as the first case shall be pointed out in which, having 
yielded one inch, logical consistency did not soon drive the 
man to the end of his strap. 

" We have never yet come to an emergency where we 
needed a new revelation of doctrine, or an essential modifica- 
tion of the old. On the other hand, whatever of liberty we 
have had, has come through a hearty subjection to these truths ; 
and whatever of good we have attempted, received its origin 
and impulse from the same source. They have furnished what- 
ever of power has been in our preaching, whatever of consola- 
tion we have imparted to the afflicted, whatever of relief to the 



MR. HOSFORD IN THE PULPIT. 77 

anxious inquirer. We never have attempted to add to, or sub- 
tract from these, without erelong being convicted of mistake ; 
never even meditated such alteration, without ultimately being 
ashamed of our folly. 

" Hence we have no crochets in the faith we shall here 
preach. We heartily adopt the old confessions ; we inquire for 
the old paths, worn smooth by the feet of the pious ages ; we 
rest in the simplicity and naturalness of the early Church 
polity, and are, as we think, quite primitive in the whole mat- 
ter of our faith and taste. We never had a hobby in theology, 
or even in reform ; and are now rather too old to lasso one 
wild, and break it in, and not quite old enough to begin to ride 
that most pitiful of all hobbies, namely, what we have done to 
help the Almighty carry on His cause in the world. 

" We therefore promise no novelty in regard to the way of 
salvation for sinners ; no loosening of the hold which the law 
has on them, save through faith in Him who is ' the end of the 
law ' to the believer. We only promise a calm, clear, affection- 
ate holding up of the way in which the great army of the faith- 
ful, in all ages, have walked up to glory and rest. 

"Nor can we promise an easy Christian life to any, save in 
the sense that Christ's yoke is easy, and the ways of wisdom 
ways of pleasantness. We have no new code of morals by 
which a bankrupt can pay oft" his honest debts by an oath, or 
stroke of the pen, or by which the rich may purchase exemp- 
tion from penalties that would crush the poor. We profess to 
be of the old school of morals, as well as of faith. 

" In these respects, therefore, our future is not an experi- 
ment. Our general system has been tried in the Church at 
large for ages ; tried in this particular church for two centu- 
ries ; tried here, under the present ministry, for half a genera- 
tion ; all of which past gives us future confidence in Him who 
is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever ! Towards no other 
point has our personal experience and observation, as well as 
reading, tended with such perfect unison, as towards confidence 
in these principles as being the only life and success of a 
Christian church. 



78 MEMORIAL. 

" With such an experience, and holding such principles with 
whatever of force my soul is capable of, you will not wonder 
that they do, in some form, enter into everything pertaining 
directly to my ministry. I could no more work without them, 
than I could toil without those old practical helpers — food, 
light, and air. I should no more dare to execute my ministry 
without them, than I should dare drop out a clause from a 
divine precept or promise which I was rehearsing to a dying 
sinner. At the same time, I feel more than ever before, the 
importance of illustrating and enforcing these old truths with 
freshness and ever-new power. 

" We should not sleep on the discoveries of the past, as 
drowsy Bedouin have encamped for ages on the mounds of old 
Nineveh, nor rehearse them as if the mere dull rehearsal were 
sufficient, as the practiced papist mumbles his hundred prayers. 
Modern preachers of these old truths need skill, tact, variety, 
ardor, flexibility, learning, — almost everything, in order to 
keep these truths in the ascendant over the minds of this 
earthly, analytical, fast and skeptical generation. 

" I could not overstate the importance of all these collateral 
graces and forces, these recent helps and modern accomplish- 
ments, to the minister who would keep solid Christianity safe 
from the specious insinuations of its modern, subtle enemies. 
Still, it is none the less these few primitive doctrines of grace, 
and no new philosophy or philanthropy, that are to be the 
staple of truth which he strives thus to present in new beauty 
and force. 

" We are reformers, and in the literal sense of the word, 
radical reformers, i. e. reforming the tree from the radix up- 
ward. Therefore we put forward regeneration through sancti- 
fication of the Spirit, and belief in these old supernatural 
truths, as the only adequate means of such thorough and per- 
manent reform. As to confidence in genuine Christians as 
being the only thorough reformers, we are as old-school as the 
Gospel itself, but intensely new-school as to the zeal and fresh- 
ness and life with which such reform, on these old principles, 
should be pressed forward. 



MR. HOSFORD IN THE PULPIT. 79 

" In trying to carry out these principles, we shall endeavor 
to have this a ' House of God,' and not the narrow fold of 
mine, or ours, or Of any particular class ; a ' House of Prayer 
for all people ' who shall love to come hither to pray. We 
shall endeavor to have these services distinctively religious and 
practical, never aiming to please, save as what is truly religious, 
in the end, is always pleasing. We expect this pulpit will 
never become a forum for political harangues, or a stage for the 
exhibition of a preacher's dramatic powers, or of his learning, 
or even of his piety; but a place from which to discourse 
calmly, earnestly, and scripturally, upon the great truths of 
salvation, overshadowed by the powers of the world to come. 

" According as this our purpose is fulfilled, these slips will 
not be a place for the continuance of your worldly thoughts 
and feelings, changed only in form, and barely enough for 
pleasant variety ; but they will be a place for quite a different, 
and far loftier train of soul-exercises; where your celestial 
birthright shall rise in your estimation, in comparison with the 
earthly ; where you will catch glances at those sublime verities 
which the angels desire to look into ; where every day of this 
mortal life will appear of infinite value, as a scene on which to 
testify piety towards God, and secure a title to the life eternal ; 
a place, in short, where your better nature shall be aroused, 
and then wings given to it. 

" We flatter ourselves that no well-disposed hearer shall ever 
have occasion to say that here he has been either neglected or 
over-persuaded, or that he has not been dealt honestly and 
fairly by, in the great business for which he came. 

" And now that I am in this strain, I may further say, that 
in the present minister of this people, you will discover no am- 
bition to rule in the church, to carry his own points, or have it 
appear that he controls all things in it, suggesting everything 
that results well, and having foretold everything that results 
unfortunately; but an honest desire to help administer its 
varied and difficult affairs, so as best to promote the general 
good. He has as little ambition, as he has ability, to awaken a 



80 MEMORIAL. 

temporary admiration terminating on himself, or drawing in 
the floating crowd. But he does acknowledge to an ambition 
that consumes his life, to speak well of Christ and of his sal- 
vation ; to have such an inward experience as will best fit him 
thus to speak, together with such an outward life as will not 
conflict with this great purpose ; in other words, to be a gen- 
uine, experimental Christian ; a candid and wise interpreter of 
God's Word and providence ; with no assumed, and therefore 
no unnatural airs of authority or sanctimony ; an honest, re- 
liable, Christian man, whose word, touching the great interests 
of the immortal soul, can be safely trusted. A glance at the 
past, while it reveals much to be regretted and repented of, 
does yet encourage hope, that God will bless the same instru- 
mentality for the future. 

" We may here state, what it will interest some to know, 
namely, that in connection with its present ministry, God has 
added unto this church, during the fifteen years past, one hun- 
dred and seventy members. Forty-four have been taken up 
to the church on high, exchanging the sword for the palm. 
One hundred and twenty have been dismissed, — of whom 
nearly one hundred were set off during the last year, to consti- 
tute a new church in this village. The result is, that its pres- 
ent number is one hundred and sixty-four, — four less than it 
was at the time of my settlement, fifteen years ago. 

" But after all that we have thus said of these our labors, 
plans, and wishes, how worthless as to the great end they all 
are, without the presence and help of the supernatural and 
Holy Spirit ! How poor, how bald, how fruitless is all this 
material preparation and human instrumentality, in comparison 
with having God now arise into his rest, in such a way as to 
clothe his priests with salvation, and cause his saints to shout 
aloud for joy ! All these costly labors are but an empty, lonely 
shell, and all these our words quite as empty a boast, unless 
He now come in — the King of Glory." 

The picture of the Preacher would not be com- 



MR. HOSFORD IN THE PULPIT. 81 

plete without mention of the devotional part of Mr. 
Hosford's public services. Allusion will be found 
elsewhere in this Memorial to his prayers on special 
occasions, and particular mention is made of the 
prayer he offered at the funeral of Rev. Dr. Dim- 
mick, of Newburyport, as one of extraordinary appro- 
priateness, richness, and tenderness. During his last 
long- sickness he was called upon to offer a prayer 
at the wt Golden Wedding " of two members of his 
church, who were, at the same time, his nearest neigh- 
bors and warmly attached friends. The crowd was 
very great, and it was only with the greatest difficulty 
that remarks, made by different persons present, could 
be heard. But when Mr. Hosford arose — pale, fee- 
ble, and evidently very weak — and commenced his 
prayer, every voice was stilled, and the whole assem- 
bly, crowded as it was, was hushed in breathless 
silence. 

And such a prayer as followed, as he stood with his 
hands extended over the heads of the venerable couple, 
who ever heard ! Its appropriateness, its touching ex- 
pressions and allusions, its intonations, its pathos, its 
spiritual beauty, were marvellous. In the opinion of 
some who heard it, it could not be surpassed by mortal 
lips. 

The same general characteristics, though in a less 
striking degree, were manifest in Mr. Hosford's public 
petitions in the sanctuary. Says one who was long a 
member of his congregation, and a close observer : — 

"There entered into his public petitions, as the chief 
11 



82 MEMORIAL. 

element, a nearness to the Father of spirits, gained, as no one 
could fail to perceive, by the most close and frequent com- 
munion. There was a blending of reverence and confidence, 
as of one who had seen the face of the All-Holy and Just, yet 
seen it reflected in the tender lineaments of the All-Merciful 
Saviour. 

" In his forms of expression, there was no striving after the 
uncommon or original ; indeed, one could hardly say anything 
with regard to the words used, because one never thought of 
them aside from the thoughts they conveyed. They were the 
perfectly transparent medium through which Faith sought and 
found its object. 

" Besides this, one felt also Mr. Hosford's intimate knowledge 
of human nature, and his strong sympathies with the varied 
experiences of life. He knew all the springs of character, the 
emotions which lie so deep below the surface that one who had 
thought and felt less thoroughly would have failed to detect 
them. They who joined in his petitions, felt that he made 
known their wants far better than themselves could have done. 
And what relief it was to the overflowing heart, to find the 
grief, repentance, or aspiration which it knew not how to ex- 
press, borne upward on the wings of his utterance. The spirit 
of devotion so wholly subjected to its service all the cumbrous 
forms of speech, that it rose, as it were, disembodied, and 
seemed to stand face to face with the Invisible." 



CHAPTER V. 



LOVE OF SCIENCE. 

" Variety 's the very spice of life, 
That gives it all its flavor. 

. Philosophy, baptized 
In the pure fountain of eternal love, 
Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees 
As meant to indicate a God to man, 
Gives Him his praise, and forfeits not her own." 

Cowper. 



Besides his multiplied and anxious labors as a min- 
ister of Christ, and notwithstanding his almost constant 
feeble health, Mr. Hosford accomplished, as a student, 
a reader, a writer, a lecturer, and a correspondent, an 
amount of work truly surprising. Few pastors of the 
present day equal him in this respect. The number 
and variety and ability of his papers furnished to our 
dailies, weeklies, monthlies, and quarterlies, besides 
two interesting and valuable volumes of considerable 
size, is astonishing. Astronomy, geology, botany, 
natural scenery, music, poetry, theology, criticism of 
every form of error, extravagance, and folly, engaged 
in turn his versatile and " sharp-nibbed pen ; " and one, 
who is for the first time made aware that he is the 
author of all this mass of papers, wonders how one 
and the same mind could have been so obviously at 



84 MEMORIAL. 

home, and so really able, in each particular depart- 
ment. 

Many of the best of these products of his pen 
evinced a quiet and unpretending, but enthusiastic, 
love of science, — a love which he himself acknowl- 
edged to be "a sort of passion." Rarely did he 
ramble through field or forest without finding, as if 
by instinct, some new or strange plant or flower, in- 
sect or stone, or to notice some new beauty in the 
landscape that had escaped the notice of other eyes. 
Though an admirer of all departments of science, he 
was specially fond of astronomy. Upon this subject 
he wrote, and delivered before the Lyceum in Haver- 
hill, two or three lectures, which he illustrated by care- 
fully prepared diagrams. With an ordinary spy-glass, 
he would often spend hours in the evening in search- 
ing for and examining the stars. When once he was 
able to see the moons of Jupiter and the rings of 
Saturn with this little glass, he sent for a neighbor to 
come and share in his intense delight. 

Among the many subjects upon which Mr. Hosford 
wrote out and published his thoughts, were carefully 
prepared articles upon the following : " Sirius and his 
Companions"; "Duration of the Earth as intimated 
by Astronomy "; " Man's Place in Nature "; " Is Sci- 
ence Skeptical"; "Genesis and Geology"; "Recent 
Geological Changes"; "Geological and Theological 
Analogies"; "Scientific Association," &c, &c. 

The following, from an intelligent neighbor and 
friend of Mr. Hosford, will be an appropriate conclu- 
sion to this brief notice of his love of science : — - 



LOVE OF SCIENCE. 85 

" If in the choice of a profession, Mr. Hosford had selected 
any department of natural science, it is certain he would have 
distinguished himself in that department. He combined in 
his character and tastes all the elements requisite to success in 
any branch of scientific research or study. His mind was 
mathematically exact, logical, and ingenious. He was patient 
in investigation, persistent in seeking for new principles, and 
careful in his inferences or conclusions. No man possessed a 
more natural or intense love of science. His keen apprecia- 
tions and perceptions were kindled into a glow whenever con- 
versation turned upon new discoveries in geology, astronomy, 
or chemistry. 

" Of the latter science he professed to know but little, and 
yet I remember with what a full appreciation he listened one 
evening to a description of the great discovery of spectrum 
analysis by Bunsen and Kirchoff. He instantly comprehended 
the philosophy of the new processes, and the magnitude and 
importance of the results attained. His inquiries made it ap- 
parent that he was familiar with many of the abstruse princi- 
ples of optics and of chemical reactions. 

"There was no one among my friends not specially con- 
nected with chemical science, whose society I oftener sought 
for conversation upon topics of that nature. And here as well 
as elsewhere frequent opportunities were afforded for the dis- 
play of that ready wit which was so marked a trait in his char- 
acter. Conversing one evening upon the importance of the 
element phosphorus in the human organization, it was observed 
that recent discoveries led to the belief that it performed a 
high office in the brain, that all efforts of the mind were de- 
pendent upon its oxydation in that organ ; in short, it was brain- 
food. ' Oh, well,' then said he, ' I suppose you would advise us, 
talking ministers, to adopt in part a diet of friction matches' 

" But in the departments of geology and astronomy he was 
more particularly interested, and in their study he found recre- 
ation and delight. How ardently he yearned for those means 
and appliances which would enable him to penetrate the inter- 



86 MEMORIAL. 

planetary spaces, in search of new worlds, or those cometary 
visitants which the unaided eye so seldom observes. And how 
often when weakness and disease made the hour of his depart- 
ure seem near at hand, did his mind dwell upon the possibility 
or probability of its enlarged capacity for comprehending and 
understanding the physical universe when the impediment of 
the body was removed." 



CHAPTER VI. 



LOVE OF NATURE, 



" And 0, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 
Think not of any severing of our loves ! 

To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 

The sounding cataract 
Haunted me like a passion ; the tall rock, 
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, 
Their colors and their forms were then to me 
An appetite, a feeling, and a love." 

Wordsworth. 

In the notices of his childhood and childhood's 
home, given in a previous chapter, is seen the early 
development of Mr. Hosford's love of Nature. For 
those who knew him as a boy, it would have been easy 
to predict what he would be as a man in this respect. 
His enthusiastic taste for everything that was beautiful, 
and curious, and instructive in the works of God, in- 
fluenced all he said and did. This could be illustrated 
to any extent, did the limits of this Memorial permit. 
Those, however, who have any sympathy with him in 
this taste, will readily see that, throughout this record 
of his life, the love of Nature was to him, in the words 
of his favorite Wordsworth, — 



88 MEMORIAL. 

" An appetite, a feeling, and a love." 

To own the hills and dales, the forests and streams 
that make up a landscape, and to own the landscape, 
are not the same. Mr. Hosford was one of those rare 
men who could look out upon a landscape with intense 
delight, and exclaim, " I own that," and of its beau- 
ties — 

" Smiling say, ' My Father made them all ! ' " 

Doubtless his early acquaintance and associations 
with the green hills of his native State, and the beauti- 
ful river which is the eastern boundary of his native 
town, laid the foundation of much of his love of Nature 
as a matter of culture. But the love was innate, and 
would have found expression anywhere. His frequent 
visits to his native hills, up to the very last he ever 
made, were ever full of this " appetite" which never 
failed of gratification. And all his vacation-excursions 
and rambles elsewhere, were more or less interesting 
and useful to him, as he found or failed to find Nature 
in forms and phases to please his ever-longing eye. 

It would be quite easy to multiply illustrations of 
this " love " to almost any extent, though it is not easy 
to make a selection from his letters and sermons, 
which, on the whole, may be accepted as the best that 
might be made. 

Writing to friends who, a short time before, in the 
summer of 1858, had accompanied him on a visit to 
the White Mountains, he says : — 

" I wonder if you have lived and revelled amid White Moun- 
tain scenery as much as I have since our return ? I wonder if 



LOVE OF NATURE. 89 

you wish to go right back, and travel it all over again, as I do ? 

I have been a happy man since our return, and the 

reasons of it are, — the glow of health I brought back in my 
veins, and the great and beautiful scenes I brought back in my 
memory. I never had so pleasant a ten days, and never one 
that left on my memory such a rich deposit of materials for 
sweet and edifying reflections. 

" I wish that your remembrances may be something like my 

own I have been reading Ruskin, but do not find 

him so full and glowing on mountains as I had expected ; but 
still worth the reading. And so I read along, — about the 
water, vegetation, and skies especially, and am now getting my- 
self ready to go out and admire Nature scientifically and ar- 
tistically. The very first cloud that shows its head above the 
horizon, has got to submit to examination (a la mode /) and be 
labelled cirrus, stratus, or cumulus ; and then it may go on its 
way. And so of trees and streams. Even the solid mountains 
will not get off as easily as formerly, but shall sit still over 
their bases until I am through with them ! When I am done 
with Nature I think I shall take up people ; so if any body 
sees my opera-glass turned towards them, unless they are 
good-looking, they had best — vamose ! " 

In a sermon upon Luke ix. 34, 35, Mr. Hosford 
thus refers to these White Mountain scenes, as illus- 
trating the clouds that hung over the Mount of Trans- 
figuration and the transfigured Redeemer, and the 
vision that followed their removal : — 

" A memorable Sabbath in our history was one spent in the 
Glen at the foot of Mt. Washington. Our fellow- worshipers 
were not of human mould or stature. During all the day 
clouds and darkness were round about the sovereign mount. 
The hoary head of the prince of that group was not once visi- 
ble. We saw him only by the eye of faith. Oh how deep 
thoughts concerning him were stirred by the very fact of his 
12 



90 MEMORIAL. 

being veiled ! A little before sunset the hoary summit broke 
through its envelope for a few minutes, and then all was mys- 
tery again. But soon a rising breeze swept the whole cloud- 
drapery aside, and there stood the glorious king in serene 
majesty and beauty. The rain had so washed the atmosphere 
from its impurities as to show every outline of the mountain 
with almost incredible distinctness; and all this majesty was 
then flooded in the golden rays of the setting sun. A sight it 
was to be remembered through life ; yea, death itself cannot 
wipe it out of the memory, save by wiping out the very fabric 
of the soul. The unusual beauty of that sight was all due in- 
directly to the preceding clouds. 

* So do dark providences screen from clear vision the benev- 
olence of our God. So does this obscurity quicken our inquir- 
ing souls to an unusual intensity. So then do the clouds 
break, and give you a momentary but clear view of the pater- 
nal countenance," &c. 

Referring to the same sublime scenery as seen in 
the winter, Mr. Hosford says : — 

" It is a rare sight to stand at the foot of Mt. Washington 
in summer, but if less sublime and overawing, it is more pleas- 
ing and beautiful to look upon its western side in winter, 
during the setting of the sun, and watch the dark shadow 
climbing slowly up its snowy side, while the mellow sunlight, 
retreating toward the summit, becomes more and more beauti- 
ful by the contrast, until, crowded entirely off by the invading 
darkness, it is caught up like the fiery chariot of the prophet 
to the source of light." 

In the autumn of 1859, Mr. Hosford, with others, 
visited the romantic region of Lake Memphremagog, 
from which place he wrote a series of delightful 
" Country Letters " for one of the Boston dailies, 
which will be tenderly remembered by many readers, 



LOVE OF NATURE. 91 

and which, if there were room, would be most wel- 
come here. 

The following* communication, though long, is given 
entire, because it cannot well lose a single paragraph 
without injury, and because it furnishes an example in 
which the love of Nature in the invalid and suffering 
writer, shines out through the mingled wit and serious- 
ness like " apples of gold in pictures of silver " : — 

" It is not our purpose to decide the grave question which 
the secular department of the ' Recorder ' has of late been dis- 
cussing, namely, whether a boat or a horse be the more desir- 
able for a convalescent minister, but the rather to propose a 
third candidate for favor with the weaker brethren. I speak, 
as the Country Parson would say, ' concerning legs,' and from 
no narrow experience, — having used a pair of the same for 
more than forty years, — having boated more or less for more 
than twenty years, and having followed horsebacking until I 
could endure it no longer. I shall therefore speak intelli- 
gently, if I do not speak wisely and candidly, while I stand 
up for legs as the best means of pleasant and healthy loco- 
motion. 

" 1. They are the cheapest means. ' Convalescent ' tells us 
that a boat costs $50, and needs occasional, repairs. We add 
that it can then be used only a part of the year. A horse costs 
from $100 to $300, his board another hundred per year or 
more, with liability of losing the whole capital by one of those 
horse-ails whose name is legion. Horse-flesh spends well in 
eating, but very fast in using. Riding is a luxury which feeble 
ministers can ill afford. 

" But legs — you are supposed to have inherited a pair of 
them at least from your parents. You incur no extra expense 
in boarding them, for what pacifies the stomach feeds them 
also. They wear out slowly. Do they not generally last until 
we are tired of moving them ? In short, they are the cheapest 



Q2 MEMORIAL. 

locomotives known, and therein are specially suited to the con- 
dition of ministers, i. e., servants. We suspect our very pru- 
dent parishioners mean more than they at first seem to, when 
they say to us, as they often do, — ' Just run in and see us any 
time.' They know we can afford to come any time in that 
style. 

"2. They afford the largest liberty. How many different 
positions can ' Eques ' find upon his horse to relieve or to dis- 
tribute the wear and tear of riding ? And will ' Convalescent ' 
tell us how much breadth of beam for cramped knees there is 
in a common row-boat ? But knees aside ; — over how much 
of his parish can he row his boat ? Unless he has the rare 
good fortune to be upon the sea-side, or the borders of a large 
pond, his variety of movement for to-day is this> — up-stream 
and then down, down-stream and then up ; and to-morrow as 
this day, but more abundant in monotony. How long can a 
Weak man endure this ? 

" Horsebacking enlarges this variety somewhat, because two 
roads may cross and thus make four, as rivers cannot. But 
who that has industriously prosecuted this sort of recreation 
for two or three weeks only, has not worn threadbare every 
highway and cross-road and lane in all the neighborhood ? So 
that, the night before, he can entertain his sleeplessness by 
anticipating precisely where to-morrow his horse will walk, 
drink, or gallop ; where the farmer's dog will bark, and the 
farmer's boy drop his work to stare at him ; until he welcomes 
any novelty in the way of a stumbling of his horse or a sudden 
shower, and he hurries home to enter upon his diary the re- 
markable fact, that on this morning a rabbit or a skunk crossed 
the road immediately before him ! 

" But legs are travellers of the freest range. The convales- 
cent can ' walk a-field,' going whithersoever his humor leads. 
Across the soft meadows or up the craggy cliffs ; along the 
singing brook or into a friend's house and flower-garden. He 
can halt when he pleases, and as long, resting or examining 
more minutely, or indulging in larger discourse, as he may 



LOVE OF NATURE. 93 

elect. He can run, or loiter, or lie down to watch the silvery 
bubbles on the brook, or the silvery clouds in upper air, or the 
sweet birds, whose silvery notes fill it with joy. Then up and 
away homeward, or still further on, without care for any per- 
son, animal, or thing. That free and easy movement which 
we call a ' stroll,' when we launch out, knowing little and 
caring less whither we go, or where we fetch-up, travelling, as 
the Arabs say, 'towards God's gate,' and the corresponding 
rest of soul while thought strolls all abroad, laboring upon 
nothing, yet finding delight in everything; what luxury can 
equal this, to a Christian minister, worn down with overwork 
and over-care ? 

" And then the woods — the old, stately, and historic woods 
— the cool, mossy, flowery, and sweet-scented woods ; in one 
part as silent as the place of graves, and in another as social 
as all heaven's sweet songsters can make them. ' God's first 
temples,' his latest and his best, in which the worshiper is both 
awed down and lifted up by an atmosphere of divine presence. 
What should skilful navigation or expert horsemanship ever 
know of the woods, which to go from earth without having 
seen and enjoyed, is to miss forever one of God's most won- 
drous works on earth ? 

" 3. They are the primitive style. Legs are an ancient and 
honorable institution, sixteen hundred years older than the 
first boat, and several centuries older than the earliest record 
of the horse. Neither Moses nor Milton makes mention of 
either boat or horse in connection with Paradise. No, these 
inventions were sought out in less delectable places, and under 
the pressure of necessity. Adam was no oarsman, though four 
rivers flowed through his domains, and Abraham's horses bore 
only burdens, while he walked in princely dignity at their side. 
Truth is, legs may be called first principles of locomotion. 
We all walk as soon as we can, and climb upon others' legs 
when our own give out. This is the natural order, and it im- 
plies a great principle. Riding is a confession on high of our 
degeneracy. We admit, ipso facto, that we are no longer sov- 



94 MEMORIAL. 

ereigns. We move on sufferance and at others' expense. Am 
I wide of the mark when I suggest that this may be what the 
wise king had in mind when he wrote for the inspired record, 
' I have seen servants upon horses, and princes walking as ser- 
vants upon the earth.' Certain it is that the splendid descrip- 
tions of the war-horse in Scripture are all poetical — an ology 
of the feelings, as it were, while the plain, solid prose of the 
Bible uniformly warns us against trust in them. 

" It is in place here to cite the example of the apostles, — 
the first and best ministers of Christianity. Several of them 
owned boats at first, but they abandoned them as soon as they 
were converted and called. Matthew may have used a horse 
while he was a worldling collecting taxes, but he left it at 
home when he followed Christ. Paul could have commanded 
either horse or boat at any time, but he appears to have used 
only one, and that but once, and that only as he was forced on 
board a prisoner in chains. But all these went forth, i. e., 
walked according to what was implied in the command ' Go.' 
And if tradition is reliable, they all held out, going about do- 
ing good until a violent death overtook them. Walking there- 
fore is a primitive recreation, it favors the primitive health, 
and is the primitive mode of spreading the Glad Tidings. 
Should not ' Eques,' therefore, and ' Convalescent,' and all that 
growing class whom they represent, repent and do the first 
works ; or, in words more scholastic but less scriptural ' return 
to first principles ? ' 

" Some remarkable stories are told of the effect of long 
horseback-ridings of hundreds and even thousands of miles, 
and occupying two or five months. But the more remarkable 
thing is that strength of natural constitution and strange 
tenacity of life which could endure such heroic practice. Any 
man who has undergone all that, ought to be let alone of dis- 
ease for the next fifty years. 

" Seriously, we think the matter of horseback-riding for in- 
valids has been and still is overdone. It is a popular hobby, 
just as meat-eschewing, and throat-swabbing, and iron-monger- 



LOVE OF NATURE. 95 

ing, and cod-liver-anointing, and whiskey-drinking have been. 
N. P. Willis never may know how many invalids who were 
descending the slope towards sunset at a slow walk, read his 
charming letter on this subject and followed his example, only 
to gallop out of life. 

" Doubtless some have trusted in horses and been delivered. 
We know of one awkward brother whose Ichabod Crane exhi- 
bitions in this fine art not only indurated himself, but also 
cured of chronic dyspepsia several parishioners by adminis- 
tering to them a daily dose of immoderate laughter. And 
another of a different ' persuasion,' has been so much built up 
by his nine-months' experience as chaplain on horseback, that 
he still makes daily what appear to be cavalry charges along 
the streets at imaginary rebels, — the sight whereof refreshes 
the whole village as well as himself. But these are rare in- 
stances, and do not establish a fundamental principle like that 
on which we stand. While therefore one brother rejoices in 
his Morgan and another in his Lapstreak, let it remain the re- 
joicing, as it is the necessity, of the multitudinous brotherhood, 
that they stand upon their own legs." 

The following brief extracts from Mr. Hosford's 
sermons will sufficiently explain themselves : — 

" The members of the solar household are constantly turn- 
ing aside a little from their courses, to salute fraternally a kin- 
dred orb passing near, yet no family ever dwelt together in 
such harmony ; each member to-day still in the place it took 
when the morning-stars sang together, &c. They shine 
steadily ; but oftentimes one trails his shadow over another's 
smiling face, and the shaded one shows his love of peace, and 
order, and of the general good, by holding on his way just as 
before." 

From a sermon upon Ps. cxlv. 10, " All thy works 
praise thee, O Lord," &c. : — 

" The water which escapes from a mountain lake comes sing- 



96 MEMORIAL. 

ing down the hills, nor scorns to turn a wheel in its lively- 
course. The product of this active force may be paper, — ere- 
long printed all over, — soon matured into Bibles, perhaps. 
And a portion of the profits of this manufacture may support a 
missionary or colporteur in his labors to distribute another por- 
tion of these manufactures among the heathen, or the destitute 
in Christian lands. 

" This stream, as it tumbles along towards its rest, singing 
and working by turns, praises God actively by its music and 
its works. The watchful sky is gladdened by the sight. But 
other lakes, cool, deep, and pure, are hemmed in by the ever- 
lasting hills, and thus forbidden of their Creator to praise Him 
in this particular way. What then? Why, obviously, rest 
there in the hollow of His hand; keep pure, and deep, and 
cool, and sweet, and peaceful, — and from their silvery surface 
reflect back to God a far more beautiful and perfect image 
of His trees, and clouds, and stars, and overarching skies than 
any Christian canvas or poem ever did. Praise Him by what 
they are ! Be such, that when the glorious Creator looks upon 
them, He shall see the image of His own incomparable love- 
liness ! " 

Again from the same sermon : — 

" The highest interest attaching to earth is not that it has 
lofty mountains and broad seas, prairies and cataracts, flowers 
and singing-birds, — in short, a countenance that speaks 
sweetly to a cultivated taste ; but it is that a ladder reaches 
from it to heaven ; it is that angels visit it to minister to those 
who are heirs of salvation; it is that the Son of God has 
walked upon it, talked upon it, died upon it, and made it the 
scene upon which a faithful probationer can win heaven. It is 
that it is the theatre upon which the Holy Spirit is doing His 
peculiar work ; the place where Christian experience begins ; 
the place from which Christian hope looks up, and from which 
the Christian himself is soon to rise. It is these supernatural 
truths which give significance to Nature." 



LOVE OF NATURE. 97 

From a sermon upon Eccl. i. 4. " One generation 
passeth away, and another generation cometh ; but the 
earth abideth forever " : — 

" It is now some two hundred years since this immediate re- 
gion was settled by Christian men. But could the first gener- 
ation of those who died or were massacred here, be raised to 
life again, they might not be more surprised at the changes 
which men have wrought upon the surface, than at the entire 
absence of change in the great features of the valley. The 
same graceful swells of land congratulating each other across 
the vales ; the same placid river moving on in unhurried dig- 
nity ; the same daily struggle between current and tide ; the 
same outlying ponds sending down by the same valleys their 
undiminished tribute to the river, — these features of the face 
of Nature are the same as at the beginning, only the art of 
man has done, as it were, some slight toilet work upon it." 

The following is from a sermon preached on the 
annual Thanksgiving Day, in November, 18.59, upon 
Ps. lv. 6. " And I said, Oh that I had wings like a 
dove, for then would I fly away and be at rest " : — 

" When humanity can bear its irksome load no longer, how 
sweetly do God's fields and woods, lakes and mountains, all so 
peaceful themselves, and always fresh, invite us to turn aside 
and rest awhile. How beautifully and tenderly does the Pro- 
fessor-poet express this natural religion of the soul in one of 
those closing hymns, in which he makes you forget the wicked 
things he had said in the preceding essay : — 

' Who knows it not, — this dread recoil 
Of weary fibres stretched with toil, 
The pulse that flutters faint and low, 
When summer's seething breezes blow ? 

' Nature, bare thy loving breast, 

And give thy child one hour of rest; 
One little hour to lie unseen 

Beneath thy scarf of leafy green.' 
13 



98 MEMORIAL. 

" We are cruel to ourselves, and unfaithful to our Heavenly 
Father, in that we confine ourselves so closely to a mode of 
life that is at once so unnatural and so wasting to body and 
spirit, as is modern life in large towns, and especially in manu- 
facturing towns. 

" We need to hear the Saviour repeating to us His counsel 
to the twelve, on a certain occasion : i Come ye yourselves 
apart into a desert place, (i. e. a solitary or retired place) and 
rest awhile '; and so from the busy scenes around Tiberias and 
Capernaum, they passed across the lake to the north-east, 
and there upon the slope facing the peaceful water, and where 
two of the evangelists are particular to mention that there was 
much green grass there, i. e., that it was a sweet, verdant scene, 
— there they had repose, until the multitude, who had fol- 
lowed them on the other side of the lake, found them out." 

The following brief extract is from a letter written 
during his weary " exile " in the " Patmos " of his last 
long sickness, " The Isles of Shoals " : — 

<l With a clear sea-view around more than half the horizon, 
a mere line or thread of land (Cape Ann) another eighth, then 
a low shore for the remainder about ten miles away towards 
the sunset, I lie and hear the waves working away at their 
everlasting problem against the shores. I lie in bed and see 
the sun rise from the sea and dry himself; I go down to the 
very surf in mid-day, and there look and listen entranced until 
overpowered, when I lie down in some sunny nook of the 
rocks, and frequently sleep ! The feeling when half asleep or 
just waking, is strange and strangely pleasant." 

During the same season of loneliness and exhaustion, 
Mr. Hosford wrote the following upon " The Afflicted 
Bird." Another article upon " God's Robins," writ- 
ten in the same tender strain, and nearly at the same 
time, will be found, for reasons that are obvious, in 



LOVE OF NATURE. 99 

another chapter. The article here given illustrates his 
habit of close observation, and his love of Nature in 
another of its many phases. It is charming in itself, 
and doubly interesting from the fact that it is one of 
the last things he ever wrote : — 

"I once saw a little straw-colored bird, dead and float- 
ing upon the still water among the willows of a meadow. 
Whether she had died of slow disease, or by violence from 
some heartless boy, or had fallen from her perch while asleep 
by some heart disease, it matters not for our present purpose. 
Sufficient for us now that she was dead. Never again would 
those silken feathers be dressed as tidily as she was wont to 
dress them ; never again would that little throat warble sweet 
melodies as it used to do. As to this life, she was utterly and 
hopelessly dead. I stopped to bewail her untimely fate, but 
soon discovered that I was not chief mourner on the occasion. 
Her stricken mate was hopping among the osiers above, chirp- 
ing sadly, and at brief intervals descending to lay hold of his 
dead with his tiny beak, trying to lift her up into sunshine and 
life. Again and again did he renew this sorrowful but vain 
attempt, until I could watch him no longer ; and I turned away, 
leaving him tugging at his melancholy task. 

" What an affecting mimicry of human grief over the dead, 
and of the poor attempts of the human heart to bring its lost 
beloved back to life again ! How natural for us to go groping 
and weeping about the house whose light went out, and whose 
music was hushed when the lovely one departed, — again and 
again calling him by name, until wearied with repeating the 
mournful experiment ; and yet clinging to it still with a tenacity 
of a diseased brain and a broken heart ! How natural to keep 
going to the grave to weep there ; and while we weep to call to 
the sleeper to awake and give us one token of recognition, — ■ 
only one slight token that he is conscious and happy, that our 
sinking hearts may be strengthened to wait patiently till their 
own change come ! Ah, that is not the way for us to find for 



100 MEMORIAL. 

our bruised spirits the resurrection and the life. Our friend's 
grave is not yet the gate of heaven for us. We should think 
upward and not earthward. We should not keep delving into 
the cold, dark ground, as if to recover the corruptible body, 
but spread our wings, and away whither the spirit of our be- 
loved dead has gone. We should not waste what little of 
strength our great affliction has left us by lifting away hope- 
lessly at that cold, inert, and heavy body of death, but leave 
that to the care of the angels until the resurrection morning ; 
and thus give our unladen heart the opportunity of seizing and 
appropriating to its own consolation, the marvellous truths 
which the Gospel offers us as believers in Him who was dead 
and is alive again. Let the example of this poor bird warn us, 
as that of the robin and the sparrow should win us." 



CHAPTER VII. 

LOVE OF MUSIC. 

" Thou needest not ask of me 
What this strong music of the soul may be, — 
What and wherein it doth exist, 
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, 
This beautiful and beauty-making power." 

Coleridge. 

It is said of Legh Richmond that, while he culti- 
vated music as a science, he " enjoyed it with the ardor 
of an enthusiast." This remark equally applies to Mr. 
Hosford, who, in spirit and tastes, strongly resembled 
Richmond. With a heart alive to everything fair and 
beautiful, he was an admirer of the fine arts, not less 
than of Nature. It may truly be said of him : — 

" Through every pulse the music stole, 
And held sublime communion with the soul." 

Concerning the early development of his taste for 
music, his sister writes : — 

" Our father delighted to hum out the day in a good old 
Christian hymn. Often the little ones climbed up to hear him 
sing 'Thousands of thousands/ Our mother sang plaintive 
airs at her little wheel and loom, and her simple ballads nour- 
ished our growth in innocence. This was our small stock, 
and to this each child in turn contributed. The iEolian came 



102 MEMORIAL. 

to charm us first of all. Father, mother, and little heads, one 
above another, stood near the low window, dumb, as it wailed 
so tender, or broke into shrieks so wild. Our child of song 
played little airs when very young, without thought or effort* 
A piano of almost human tone was a shrine to which he 
turned. 

" I have never seen one drink in music so deeply, and so 
entirely shun its dissipations. This same culture he craved 
for his children, and so appropriated a portion of the winter 
evenings, spent in the country, to sacred family music. These 
young children can never outlive the remembrance of those 
hours, or how their father sang in clear treble tones, as few 
men can sing, * Brother, though from yonder sky.' The airs 
he selected were tender, melancholy, and executed with great 
finish, and beauty of expression. 

" Such as his style was, he had from the beginning. While 
listening to his reveries, my own soul has swelled to the top- 
most endurance. I felt I stood beside the dying, saw the wind- 
ing up of life, its avenues closed one by one, then the snapping 
of the brittle thread. Oh ! the pent up grief which rolls over 
me when, musing and alone, I catch from some careless one a 
sweet strain of music, first heard from hands now mouldering 
in dust ! " 

Year after year, it was Mr. Hosford's habit to attend 
the Concerts and Oratorios in Boston ; and great was 
his disappointment when, for any reason, he was pre- 
vented from securing this gratification. During the 
performance and for some time subsequently, he seemed 
to be borne, as upon wings, to a height of ecstasy 
which is rarely attained even by professional amateurs. 

November 16, 1849, he wrote : — 

" Sadly grieved to-ngiht to read in papers that no evening 
tickets would be sold for a series of Concerts in Boston, some 



LOVE OF MUSIC. 103 

of which I had ardently hoped to attend. Wondered again if 
it is possible for me to feel an interest in religious duties and 
professional labor, which would compare with my relish for 
good music. Not that I would be unclothed of this profession, 
but clothed upon with such a spirit as would make me relish 
the calling. No doubt some men, who have no special taste 
for such matters as music, may find their taste as well gratified 
in labors of benevolence ; but is it so with him who knows the 
' concord of sweet sounds ? ' " 

Mr. Hosford published numerous articles upon 
sacred music. In one of these, which had a special 
reference to certain zmmusical criticisms of a musical 
performance, he wrote : — 

" Good music is to some extent a relative thing, i. e. what is 
good to one, is not as good to another ; and yet it is as well 
settled what good music is, as what good poetry or painting is. 
That is good music which they who have made music their 
study generally admire ; not that which they admired in their 
'natural and unsophisticated state/ but in their mature and 
cultivated state. They studied the art; they changed their 
tastes by study ; they considered the change an improvement, 
and the musical world has sustained their judgment. In- 
stead, therefore, of having our friends rest satisfied with their 
natural and simpler likings in this matter, we would have them, 
by all possible and proper means, elevate their primitive and 
unsophisticated tastes, so as to enjoy the ' fine renderings ' of 
the i sublimer compositions ' of the great masters in this art." 

Mr. Hosford's intense enjoyment of music increased 
with increasing- years. After he became a decided in- 
valid, he wrote from Orford, N. H. : — 

" I see in to-day's paper a notice of the ' Messiah.' Oh, how 
homesick this makes me ! Shall I ever again feel the religious 



104 MEMOEIAL. 

power of that composition, — one of the greatest of all human 
works ? " 

Again : — 

" Beethoven's Minor Chords, so akin to some of Tennyson's 
best thoughts, have been haunting me to-day." 

Again : — 

" Heard four Germans play last night, — music exquisite ! 
It filled my eyes with tears, and my soul with delight." 

Again : — 

" Heard St. Paul, by Mendelssohn, rehearsed, — a treat long 
to be remembered." 

Again : — 

" I am sure I have struck at the very soul of music. No 
man could describe, — I could not myself, — its effect on my 
highest culture, intellectual and religious. All I can say is, 
that I have been permitted to enter the ' Holy of holies ' in this 
respect, for which I give most humble and hearty thanks. The 
Bible gives every intimation that music will in some way form 
a part of the worship of heaven. So this preparation of soul 
will not be lost." 

To a friend, with whom he was conversing during 
his last sickness, he said : — 

" Much of what you call the tenderness and pathos of my 

character is due to the effect of music There is a gulf 

which no man can measure, between my appreciation of 
music, and that of most men. I have always felt it, but said 
nothing." 

Again, he said : — 

" To such as have a keen relish for it, there is none other 
earthly refreshment that is at once so stimulating and soothing. 



LOVE OF MUSIC. 105 

From Saul and Luther, the evil spirit was not so much expelled 
by music, as their souls were by music ravished away out of 
his reach ; and so does it always lift up and bear away, clear 
out of the reach of earthly thought, the soul of one that has the 
gift of hearing." 

These expressions and illustrations of Mr. Hosford's 
enthusiastic love of music could be multiplied, and will 
occasionally appear as we follow him along the path of 
life. And we who now linger behind and gaze up- 
ward after him, can hardly think it too much to believe 
of one who, with his heart so attuned to praise, sang 
so sweetly and loved music so intensely on earth, that 
he now sings more sweetly than others, — 

" With those just spirits that wear victorious palms, 
Hymns devout and holy psalms, 
Singing everlastingly.'''' 

It is proper to add here that Mr. Hosford's love of 
poetry, though perhaps less demonstrative, was not less 
genuine and enthusiastic than his love of music. It 
was ever a delight to him that the 

" Sphere-born, harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse," 

could "wed their divine sounds." His mind was 
essentially poetic, and, had he given his pen to the 
Muse often, as he did occasionally, there is no doubt 
he would have attracted the public notice and applause, 
even more generally than he did as a writer of prose. 
He was particularly fond of some of the older English 
poets. Their quaintness and original freshness were a 
source of inexhaustible pleasure. Henry Vaughan was 
a special favorite, and, in a published article entitled 

14 



106 MEMORIAL. 

"Vaughan and his Debtors," he contended that it 
was from the quaint but genuine and original old poet 
Wordsworth borrowed some of his finest and freshest 
thoughts, of which the article gives examples. 

In looking over Mr. Hosford's manuscripts and 
note-books, one can hardly fail to be struck with the 
fact that he is everywhere communing with the poet. 
Charming poetic thoughts, allusions, and quotations 
abound. Into many of his best sermons are intro- 
duced, more commonly at the close, hymns or other 
quotations of poetry, which, besides finely illustrating 
the subject of the sermon, are gems in themselves. 
Many of these will be recognized by his hearers and 
intimate friends, in this Memorial. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

LOVE OF COUNTRY. 

" Yet, my beloved country, I partake 
Of kindred agitations for thy sake ; 
Thou, too, dost visit oft my midnight dream ; 
Thy glory meets me with the earliest beam 
Of light, which tells that morning is awake. 
If aught impair thy beauty or destroy, 
Or but forebode destruction, I deplore 
With filial love the sad vicissitude." 

Wordsworth. 

When the late war commenced, Mr. Hosford's 
health had already been seriously undermined. This 
fact, together with his acute nervous sensibility and 
shrinking from public notoriety, restrained him in a 
measure from outward demonstrations of the patriotic 
feeling which stirred his heart. He was not an in- 
different spectator of his country's peril and struggle. 
In private his expressions of interest were strong and 
true. He had, before this culmination of the power 
of the oppressor, recorded his deep sense of the evils 
of slavery, and his apprehension of God's judgments 
upon the land on account of it. Referring to a har- 
rowing description of the wrongs of the slave, he 
wrote : — 



108 MEMORIAL. 

"I already knew enough of slavery to convince me that 
every important, painful incident narrated, could be matched 
and perhaps over-matched by reality. My intellect, my judg- 
ment was already wholly against the evil. I knew it capable 
of all the miseries portrayed, but now my heart is moved." 

With these feelings, Mr. Hosford gave himself 
to daily and special prayer for the interposition of 
Heaven, not knowing exactly what else he could do, 
and, at the same time, cordially responding to the sen- 
timent subsequently so happily expressed by one of his 
favorite poets, — " the poet of our valley " : — 

" I see the wrong that round me lies, 
I feel the guilt within ; 
I hear, with groans and travail-cries, 
The world confess its sin : 

" Yet in the maddening maze of things, 
And tossed by storm and flood, 
To one fixed star my spirit clings : 
I know that God is good ! ,y 

Conservative by nature and by principle, Mr. Hos- 
ford was never rash nor unchristian in his language on 
any subject. His well-considered words of opposition 
to slavery, and of alarm at its encroachments, were, 
therefore, the more weighty when they came. 

From an admirable sermon, preached to his own 
people soon after the war began, and eminently worthy 
of being published entire, are extracted the following 
paragraphs : — 

"'When thy judgments are in the earth, the inhabitants of 
the world will learn righteousness/ Practical righteousness 
is the doing of what is right, just. God's judgments, there- 
fore, should teach us justice .... 



LOVE OF COUNTRY. 109 

" The enormous outrages (upon the eternal and immutable 
principles of justice) which this war has brought out in the 
South, the plundering of Government property, and repudi- 
ating Northern debts, will recall our attention to the value of 
this quality of strict justice in the business-world. 

" We were becoming lax, too, in political justice. . . . Indi- 
viduals and parties kept silence, or carefully measured their 
words, when they s,hould have lifted up their voice as a 
trumpet. 

" Think you that a National Congress, for one generation 
at least, will again sit and listen as patiently to the bold avow- 
als of Treason, as they did for three months last winter? 
Then, with other things to think of, party and personal, they 
were obtuse to this enormous crime ; but now they see it ; and 
have at last decreed its merited penalty, and, we trust, will, 
in due time, execute it. 

" And so we now see the ripe fruits of our loose notions, 
and from them reason back to the guilt of the first sowing. 
Our knowledge comes late, but not too late to save us from 
perdition. 

" The sense of right may be forgotten in the hot pursuit of 
selfish interest ; it may be blinded awhile by partisan zeal ; it 
may be, for a season, smothered or trampled into silence by 
unscrupulous violence ; but it still lives, for the immortal fife 
of God is in it, and, erelong, He will give it a resurrection. It 
may be patient, and forgiving of abuse, waiting long in hope 
that better counsels will prevail ; but, beyond a certain point, 
it will rise in its indignation, and then, no interest or even pas- 
sion can stand in its way, for it moves as if it bore a solemn 
commission from the Highest. 

" It is the sense of injured justice, — of justice outraged 
in secret, and then openly ; outraged long, and all the more 
as it was forbearing towards its injurers, — it is this which has 
made a 'North which no political combination could ever 
make ; this that has stirred the North so deeply, demolishing 
old party lines, fusing hereditary animosities, opening purses 



110 MEMORIAL. 

and vaults, and literally choking the highways to our Capital 
with troops panting for the sacrifice. It is the spirit of 76 
suited to the necessities of '61, — the power which put down 
foreign tyranny now putting down domestic anarchy. 

" ' Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just.' 

" Could I get tlie ear of all our soldiery to-day, I would try 
to invigorate both body and soul by these considerations of 
eternal justice. 

" In order to make them efficient in the highest degree, and 
patient to the end, I would advise them to clear the mind of 
all other considerations, in order that it may be occupied and 
controlled by this alone, — 'Justice in our land has been trifled 
with, insulted, trampled upon, and from the dust cries unto us 
for vengeance.' I would have them feel that they are called 
out, not so much to recover stolen goods, or protect our Capi- 
tal, or back up an Administration, or save us the mortification 
of defeat, or gratify the personal desire of revenge, as to serve 
the holy ends of justice ; to set up again dethroned law and 
order, which is righteousness in the high places of our nation ; 
to represent to the nation and to the world the majesty of an 
eternally righteous principle in contrast with the ruthless sec- 
tional ambition that has assailed it. 

" Much as I desire victory for our arms, it would lose much 
of its desirableness in my mind, did I not anticipate it as vic- 
tory for righteous principle as expressed in our Constitution 
and our Union, in distinction from the doctrine of State Rights, 
(the root of all this difficulty,) which is, at least, the doctrine 
of the petted younger son, who will have his own way regard- 
less of the welfare of the whole household in which he had 
been brought up. . . . 

" Treachery to such a Government and Constitution as ours, 
because dissatisfied with the principles or proceedings of a 
party, is crime, if any thing touching government can be crime, 
and if there be any such thing as justice, it must be duty to 
visit that crime with penalty. War is a strange method for 



LOVE OF COUNTRY. Ill 

deciding the righteousness of a question ; and yet, to this nine- 
teenth century of our blessed Lord, we have discovered no 
method more satisfactory. It is at the best an awful scourge, 
and no man should ever lift hand or voice to it without a clear 
conviction that his cause is just. But when he has such a con- 
viction, growing out of the fact that he cannot otherwise get 
justice at the hands of man, and so carries his case before the 
higher tribunal of the God of Battles, — doing this for the 
sake of the cause of endangered righteousness, — then the ap- 
peal to arms becomes a sublime moral act, and the prosecution 
of it a religious duty, and so a means of grace. 

" Thus the great men of our Revolution accepted the dread- 
ful alternative forced upon them, and, by such principles se- 
cured the help of God, the just. . . . 

" I am quite certain that no government ever had a more 
just cause for armed resistance than ours now, and therefore 
I believe it would be better for us to fight and die failing, 
than to make no attempt to restore justice and liberty. The 
attempt to do this may last long, but it is better to fight indefi- 
nitely, even unto death, than to settle down in a peace whose 
conditions violate our holiest notions of righteousness. We 
do not desire a peace whose conditions will unman us before 
God and our own consciences. Better an endless war, whose 
principles will be constantly strengthening the souls of those 
who live and die in it. . . . 

" Taking the race as it is, liberty can be bought and kept 
only with the price of blood ; and it is worth the price. Not 
one drop of the blood of our Revolution was wasted. Seventy- 
nine years of peace are worth a seven years war." 

Such were the views and feelings in relation to his 
country's peril and duty which Mr. Hosford cherished, 
only with increasing intensity, to the day of his death. 
More than two years after preaching the sermon from 
which the foregoing extracts have been made, and when 



112 MEMORIAL. 

he was sinking beneath the accumulating pressure of 
disease, he wrote and published the following: — 

" The most fearful stage In the progress of the war is now 
at our doors. It is generally understood that a draft of 
300,000, more or less, is soon to be made. Hitherto our im- 
mense army has been .sustained by volunteers, including in 
that term those few whose voluntary powers needed the quick- 
ening influence of a bounty. Thus far, no compulsion, no vio- 
lent sundering of families, no reluctant obedience to an iron 
edict, which would have been gladly avoided. The community 
has given up only those who, with some inconvenience, could 
be spared. But now the inexorable ploughshare must drive 
through the pleasantest households, tearing up the most deli- 
cate growths indiscriminately ; and it will be no easy matter 
to evade this result, as aforetime, by kind substitutes, for they 
will need to answer for themselves. A draft is the most terri- 
ble feature of any war. Much more then will it be more ter- 
rible than aught which New England has yet seen of this war. 
But what of all this ? First, it will test our patriotism, which 
hitherto has been subjected to no thorough test. It is mortify- 
ing to think how selfish and mixed, at best, much of that so- 
called patriotism has been. Love of adventure, and thirst for 
fame, will account for much of what we have done on the field, 
and love of money for much of what those at home have done 
to encourage those on the field. As yet, the iron of personal 
sacrifice and personal suffering has entered into the souls of 
but few. For the most part, New England has wrought never 
more prosperously, and never more joyously, and slept never 
more peacefully, than during these last two years. We have 
suffered nothing in comparison with what our fathers suffered, 
and less than nothing in comparison with what the Hollanders 
suffered to gain their independence. 

" No doubt we have genuine patriotism, but it has not yet 
been proved. Heroism has lain slumbering in many a loyal 
bosom for want of opportunity. Now such test and such op- 



LOVE OF COUNTRY. 113 

portunity is at hand. When every family of three males shall 
have sent one to the war, and one in every three of these shall 
have received back its one dead, and all other families shall 
see that they have escaped this dire affliction only by a special 
grace, and so shall make the sufferers' case their own, then 
may our patriotism be said to have been tested ; and if to all 
this they promptly say, ' Even so ; it is only our duty to God, 
to liberty, and to posterity; the stake is worth all this and 
more ; nothing that remains shall be too dear to lay down for 
that stake,' then may that patriotism be said to be proved. Is 
not such a result greatly to be desired ? Are we not all con- 
scious that we have been ignorant and superficial in our patri- 
otism, even when we tried our best ? It was a new virtue to 
us, and in regard to it we blundered in our haste as we did in 
regard to the most direct road for an army to Bichmond. We 
are not sure but we have learned this virtue as rapidly as we 
learn any thing valuable ; but the process has been slow, and 
costly, and painful. The next step in the dire process of our 
training promises to teach us what remains to be learned as to 
the quality and the value of this sterling virtue. Let us gird 
ourselves manfully for the trial. We are unworthy of liberty, 
we are unworthy of our ancestry, we are unworthy of God's 
providence in our history, if we murmur or timidly shrink from 
the trial. Secondly, it may test our piety. Fearful as it is, 
can we bow to it trustingly, as to a providential movement ? 
Can we still say, ' God reigns, let the nation rejoice ; He reigns 
in and over our President and Cabinet ; let the people trem- 
ble ? ' Can we, amid these ' terrible things in righteousness,' 
hold our hearts calm and even in their trust in Him ? Those 
hearts will be fearfully agitated, perhaps deeply lacerated ; but 
will such deep experiences only subsoil them so that they shall 
bear a richer harvest of trust, and love, and obedience ? 

" Oh, how difficult a thing it is to adjust our relation to God 

so as to know that it is right. How often do we think we are 

right, when a deeper, subsequent experience, proves us to have 

been far astray ! Two years ago we all had our thoughts about 

15 



114- MEMORIAL. 

the war, and these we rehearsed to God with great freedom 
and ability ! Now we see how mixed and shallow those thoughts 
were, and why, consequently, they moved God so little. By 
the painful and humiliating experiences of two years He has 
been leading us down into the recesses of our own spirits, in 
order that we might get nearer up to Him. The approaching 
discipline will be severest of all. If we improve it well, may 
we not expect it will be the most useful of all, and the last ? 

" One word more. It is our private opinion that no man 
can properly honor the God of our nation who thinks and 
speaks hard things of the Administration whom that God has 
providentially placed in power, and then led along by a way 
which themselves did not know, until this severe measure is a 
necessity. Our theology is not nice enough to discriminate 
between God's providence over our land, and the Administra- 
tion whom that providence has exalted to power ; between loy- 
alty to the Constitution and loyalty to rulers constitutionally 
elected. In our judgment, therefore, any thoughtful Christian 
man who cannot conscientiously and cordially pray that God 
may bless the measures which the Administration has adopted 
for the securing of union and peace, would do well to reexam- 
ine both his patriotism and his piety." 

These utterances have the true ring of independent 
Christian patriotism. They would have done no dis- 
honor to the year "76. They do not disgrace 

" The tongue 
That Shakspeare spake, the faith and morals 
Which Milton held." 



CHAPTER IX. 

LOVE OF SATIRE. 

" And gentlest spirits oft, with sportive mien, 
Do scatter Attic salt and satire keen ; 
Touch to the quick the shrinking nerves of wrong, 
Yet win their sympathy with Humor's song." 

Axon. 

An attempt to cull out from their connections in 
Mr. Hosford's letters and newspaper articles, the 
examples of his wit and satire, would be like an at- 
tempt to gather up for public exhibition the dew-drops 
that sparkle in the morning sun. A large portion of 
his letters are full of the keenest and most delicate, yet 
evidently the most unstudied and natural humor ; but, 
generally, it is so associated with other strains, and so 
related to facts of a private or personal character, that 
the necessary explanations of it, if the examples were 
given, would occupy more room than can here be 
afforded. Ever remarkably free from any disposition 
wantonly to wound the feelings even of those from 
whose opinions or conduct his own most widely differed, 
this play of his thoughts and expressions was obviously 
almost as irresistible as an instinct. It was what his 
little boy truly characterized as "papas funniness^ 
— a keen sense of the ludicrous joined to an irrepres- 



116 MEMOKIAL. 

sible prompting to expose wickedness, error, and folly, 
in terms of vivid and merited severity. When thus 
directed to those whom Pope so forcibly called — 

"Hectors, 

Thieves, supercargoes, sharpers, and directors," 

in the sphere of business, theology, religion, man- 
ners or morals, it was sometimes withering. But 
aside from its application to those whom, in his inmost 
soul he felt to he wrong, he never employed it, and he 
could honestly adopt the words of Pope again : — 

" Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, 
That tends to make one worthy man my foe." 

The reader of this Memorial will not fail often to 
notice examples of humor and satire in Mr. Hosford's 
letters. But as specimens of the keener sort, extracts 
from other productions of his pen will here be given. 

The following is the first of his series of articles 
upon " Great Sermons," published in the " Boston Re- 
corder " in 1857 : — 

" GREAT SERMONS. 

" What are they ? I mean by them, just now, such as require 
a great effort to prepare and deliver them ; which make a great 
impression upon both preacher and hearer ; and which are gen- 
erally great failures. Their whole history is greatness long- 
drawn-out. The Scriptures are now searched, if never before, 
for a striking text, whose most striking feature, thus applied, 
may be a wretched pun. Then Common-Place Books of 
Poetry, Hand-Books of Proverbs, and a Concordance of Shak- 
speare, are consulted and applied. The old translators are 
also exhumed for the sake of some quaint version of the text, 
or for some fanciful rendering of it, which affords the preacher 
a good opportunity of amending the version. Then follows the 



LOVE OF SATIRE. 117 

great principle, made startling by a paradoxical form of state- 
ment. This great principle is now unfolded, garnished, and 
applied, in a style which rises in grandeur as the excitement 
of the composer rises, under the stimulus of his own oratory, 
night sweats, strong tea, and the approaching Sabbath, until 
that day arrives ; which, we pray, may be pleasant enough to 
warrant the delivery of one of his < great efforts.' His people, 
who remember the many dull Sabbaths preceding, seem to 
have an instinct that something unusual will occur to-day, and 
so they shoal out, saying one to another, with a sly wink and 
nod, ' Guess our moon fulls to-day. Mighty new and thin 
along back.' Their guesses at truths are sometimes wider of 
the mark than to-day ; for see, the coming event casts its 
shadow before. The preacher, conscious of power hidden in his 
pocket, walks very slowly and awkwardly up the pulpit stairs, 
throwing off his cloak, and shoving his Bible about, as if he 
were saying, 'I can afford to despise small things to-day.' 
The long prayer in due time is disposed of, after having taken 
occasion in the course of it to remind his audience of the gen- 
eral principle that preaching is foolishness, and preachers poor 
and feeble creatures. His long, cool introduction is now read, 
in a calm, subdued voice, as a sort of foil to the rush he is pre- 
paring to make. Ere long he straightens up, and suffers the 
orator to gleam out for a moment, through the minister. A 
great thought has dawned upon his mind ; and like a giant 
refreshed with new wine, he pants for some grand achieve- 
ment, and must do it, or explode. But he prudently re- 
strains himself now, knowing that his hour has not fully 
come. The audience is not yet ripe. So he exercises his 
power by keeping cool, and holding in, as Wellington did his 
generalship, till almost sunset, at Waterloo. But as time 
moves on, the pulse throbs harder, the veins stand out on the 
temples, the brain heaves, and the imagination glows, while 
this inward excitement expresses and relieves itself by fuller 
tones and a loftier gesticulation. His people, accustomed to 
these periodical ecstasies, know what is expected of them in 



118 MEMORIAL. 

the premises. They have learned to predict the exact moment 
of climax, and so begin to brace themselves, and hold their 
breath, at the right moment precisely. The grand consumma- 
tion comes just as expected, only it is a little more tremendous 
than ever. They bear it, however, like good martyrs accus- 
tomed to the fire, and then recover themselves by sitting back 
into their seats, taking a long breath, and exchanging glances 
of satisfaction. And as they leave, they receive from the 
trembling hands of their exhausted minister, who is now bap- 
tized, in his own perspiration at least, a parting benediction, 
whose spirit is, ' Now my dear people, do keep calm, I beseech 
you, until you are fairly out of the house.' And they have 
respect unto the cry of the needy ! But, in truth, the sermon 
did make a great sensation. By universal acclaim it was 
i most a splendid production.' It was obvious to all that it 
was a ' great effurtJ Few had ever heard it surpassed ; and 
some said they felt now as if they never wanted to hear 
another sermon. Even all the sinners in the congregation 
praised it with a loud voice ; for not one of them was sent 
away maimed, or dumb, or in bad humor with himself. Only 
one solitary unfortunate was badly injured for the time, and 
he, by its recoil. The big gun did kick badly as it went off; 
for which rebound the gunner had forgotten to make his cal- 
culations. The over-worked man did little, all the next week, 
but walk wearily around, as much as to say, ' You don't expect 
any thing more of me this week.' He even talked of going to 
the city to have some private conference with a publisher 
there, and to restore ' tone ' to his nervous system ; but as no 
one expressed his solid admiration of the great sermon by pro- 
posing to pay his fare, he concluded that it was the will of 
Providence that he should perfect his right to join the noble 
army of the martyrs by staying and suffering for his well- 
doing. 

' Time cuts down all, both great and small.' 

This inexorable Primer Law makes no exception in favor of 
great sermons. The tempest of enthusiasm which it awakened 



LOYE OF SATIEE. 119 

lulled away in proportion as the writer recovered the energy 
which this ' great effurt ' had sucked out of his soul and body. 
His people naturally became less careful to remember it, as 
they were drawing nearer the time when they might expect 
another great sermon, — should the weather prove favorable. 
They were nearer the coming full moon, and so looked not 
mournfully to the past. Still that sermon was quite an epoch 
in the parish. Other events crystallized around it. Such a 
thing happened, it was said, so long before, or after, the great 
sermon ; or, fortunately, on the self-same day. A child born 
on that auspicious morn, was christened, four weeks afterwards, 
with the name Ecclesiastes, in honor of the great occasion. 
And for a long time all other discourses in that pulpit were 
tried by this exalted standard: ' A good sermon, but not one 
of his happiest efforts.' ' All well enough, only I kept think- 
ing of that magnificent discourse.' And during the common- 
place Gospel discourses which followed for a month, the hear- 
ers of this great sermon entertained themselves by imagining 
the colloquy which would transpire, should the stones out of 
the walls, and the beams out of the timbers, of this favored 
house, only speak out their impressions of that grand occasion. 

In this land of light and privilege great sermons are more 
numerous than most rare things. Not so numerous, however, 
but we know their localities, as well as we know the where- 
abouts Of the White Mountains, or of the Great Lakes. 

Brother A. has a splendid Chalmeric, Astronomical Dis- 
course, somewhat nebulous it is true, but only so because so 
lofty. Those who have examined it closely, on its annual re- 
turn, say that its fan-shaped tail is gradually condensing around 
its head. Brother B. has a famous one upon the Lily, famil- 
iarly called 'The Lily-white Sermon.' Its sweet meadowy 
perfume lingers in many a grateful memory. Brother C. has 
a terrific onslaught upon the scamp, Judas, which will almost 
make a bald man's hair stand on end. Brother D. has laid 
himself out upon Absalom, or the sleek sinner ; but he never 
preaches it abroad without first consulting the minister of the 



120 MEMORIAL. 

parish. Dr. E.'s ' great effurt ' is a Discourse of the Relations 
of Learning and Religion. This able argument justifies Col- 
leges, and an educated ministry ; puts Genesis and Geology in 
their proper places ; and, wherever repeated, is called as good 
as new, although it has been in print for three years. Dr. F. 
has laid out his strength upon the true doctrine of the Logos ; 
in which the most learned of the Greek and Latin fathers are 
summoned to bear witness, in their own tongues, to the truth 
of John. All the Symbols of the Church, unimpaired by trans- 
lations, also give in their testimony to the same effect. Dr. 
G.'s ability has found relief in a Discourse upon the Digni- 
ties and Duties of the Christian Citizen under an unchristian 
Government, being a triumphant reconciliation of the higher 
and the lower laws. And Brother F.'s chef d'ceuvre is ' The 
Fading Leaf;' which when delivered in that pensive season 
in which it was conceived, and when illustrated as it then can 
be by a veritable 'sere and yellow leaf held up to view, is 
exceedingly affecting ! It makes one sigh to die in Autumn, 
when he may lay this poor mortality down amid the sympa- 
thies of Nature, expiring all around him ! There is also, in a 
remote part of this country, as we have heard, by distant rever- 
berations, a great sermon on the Believer-Hero ; another 
smasher upon Stormy Sundays; another quite smart affair 
called the Crooked-stick Sermon ; one upon ' Memory in Hell, 
— the Worm without End ' ; and the last one reported is upon 
the three great, similar, silent sister forces of the Moral Uni- 
verse, namely, Light, Life, and Love. The praise of these 
sermons is in all the churches. We recognize them, when we 
cross their path, as easily as President Hitchcock does the 
huge tracks of his geological turkeys. Whether heard at Sara- 
toga, at Newport, in Boston, or in Brooklyn, or in any small 
intermediate place, where the authors are detained by snow- 
storms, or lie becalmed in vacation, they are ever the same, — 
always and everywhere great. They keep remarkably well. 
They are greatness preserved ; the solid pemmican of thought, 
warranted good for all latitudes. Well planned vacations and 



LOVE OF SATIRE. 121 

exchanges, in due time, bring them around to all the promi- 
nent Ecclesiastical Platforms in this part of the country. You 
might call them Pulpit Revolvers, or Circulating Decimals, 
according as your taste is martial or arithmetical. Supplying 
Committees of our large and influential churches understand 
this matter, and take advantage of it. ' We are, in the provi- 
dence of God, without a pastor, and know not where to look ! 
Pray can you not help us to a supply on the next Sabbath, 
either yourself or by exchange?' — which is readily under- 
stood to mean, ' Come, now, fire us your big gun.' And so it 
happens that almost all the i larger and more important 
churches' in New England have been the objects upon which 
these ' great effurts ' have terminated. Now there is a sense 
in which these gigantic products are providential, for they 
seem to be quite essential in the present state of things. For 
surely no discreet man would presume to candidate in any of 
our large churches unless he had one or more of such ser- 
mons ; any more than the Committee would presume to ask 
him, without knowing that he had them. Hence, without such 
discourses, ecclesiastical matters in high places would suffer a 
dire stagnation. But for these sermons many of our first-class 
congregations would have to remain widowed as to a minister ; 
and many of our first-class ministers would never have forti- 
tude to appear as preachers, except before their own, or other 
small country congregations. Hence we consider these ' great 
effurts' as in a sense providential, prepared beforehand to 
meet great emergencies. 

" But the minister is dying of these great sermons. They 
absorb his time, energy, and piety, like sponges. They bleed 
him like vampires; they bleach and reduce him like fevers. 
They require a preternatural state of mental and bodily exci- 
tation ; and the penalty is a swto*-natural state of the same. 
They leave him all flabby from exhaustion ; when the vultures 
dyspepsia and bronchitis improve their opportunity, and his 
only remedy is a voyage to Europe. They are also most dis- 
couraging accomplishments ; for when he once gets a taste for 
16 



122 MEMORIAL. 

them, he becomes sick of all his other preparations, which, 
from the nature of the case, must be the more numerous. 
True enough, it is very exhilarating to him to fire a tremen- 
dous broadside once in a while, and to listen entranced while 
echoing hills prolong the sound ; but it is no less disheartening 
to him to be compelled to regard all his intermediate dis- 
courses as only pocket-pistols, — ''good sermons, — proper 
enough for a Preparatory Lecture, or a rainy day/ How can 
he, who has spoken to his hearers as with the trump of an 
angel, condescend to talk like common men, and preserve a 
proper self-respect f 

" These great sermons ruin others besides those who deliver 
them. Many a good brother has been discouraged quite out 
of the ministry, because he could not thunder like one of these 
orthodox sons of Jupiter ; and many a feeble, but conscientious 
brother has, like the ambitious frog in the fable, fallen a mar- 
tyr to his zeal, by bravely trying to expand his narrow wind- 
chest up to the capacity of some ' Rouser.' 

" And some who are guiltless of this ' towering sin,' and have 
therefore avoided this sad catastrophe, have yet, by the same 
process of inflation, so lowered their specific gravity, as to float 
up and away into the very clouds. Their enraptured hearers 
see but little of them, after they cut loose from the fastenings 
of their text ; but still they are all ears, as entranced poets are 
when listening to the * viewless song' of the ever-circling, 
ever-soaring skylark. These aerial navigators, however, gen- 
erally manage to get back to terra jirma in season to assure 
their admirers that they are not hurt in the least ; and to give 
their benediction for their truly devout and upturned attention 
to their very humble essay upon the skies. 

" It has seemed to us that our own denomination, ' by the 
force of circumstances,' are sinners above all other evangelical 
denominations in this respect. The ambition of the Episco- 
palian, if he has any, is cramped by his Liturgy. That is 
fitted, and was doubtless intended, to make the sermon a sec- 
ondary part of worship. And it has done its work admirably. 



LOVE OF SATIRE. 128 

Great sermons in the Church are as much out of place as ships 
of war in a canal. The Methodist, in his primitive state, has 
too much zeal, and too little learning, to be the subject of such 
an ambition. The soil of the circuit is not deep enough for 
that gorgeous, sun-seeking plant. The Old School Presbyte- 
rians have less of it than we, because, with them, a minister's 
standing depends less upon his pulpit demonstrations, than 
upon his ecclesiastical generalship, or his power in debate be- 
fore the Assembly. The more cultivated of the Baptists are 
beginning to show this elegant accomplishment ; but Dr. Way- 
land protests aloud that it is only an exotic, brought into that 
purest and most apostolic church by a vicious imitation of 
more worldly and fashionable denominations ; and he zealously 
exhorts all his brethren to repent of this their great wicked- 
ness, and do their first works. 

" But Unitarians and Universalists are ahead of us still. 
They bid fair to run this idea into the ground. They live upon 
great occasions, as the Esquimaux upon the occasional walrus. 
A war, a Nebraska bill, the death of a wealthy merchant, a 
great storm, a great eclipse, a great fire, or a great celebration ; 
— these are godsends to them. They are as new revelations 
from Heaven to them in their lowly estate. Their powers are 
not stirred by ordinary Gospel themes ; their thunder rever- 
berates only to these great occasions ; and hence obese toads 
are not more plenteous after a summer shower, than plethoric 
sermons from these denominations are upon the heels of great 
occasions. The spiritual condition of these denominations shows 
the legitimate and ripe results of this false taste in regard to 
preaching. They foreshow us what we also may expect to be, when 
great sermons become our highest ambition and our daily food. 

" Cecil." 

If our limits permitted, such articles as those 
entitled " Smelling Committees," " Raising the Terms 
of Communion ; How I and the Deacon did it," 
" One Idea, and What it can Do," and others of sim- 



124 MEMORIAL. 

ilar character, which many readers of the " Boston Re- 
corder " remember well, would admirably illustrate 
Mr. Hosford's rare ability as a satirist. 

In March and June, 1859, and January, 1860, Mr. 
Hosford published three articles, the first in the " Bos- 
ton Courier," and the second and third in the " Bos- 
ton Recorder," which the readers of the " Atlantic 
Monthly," in years past, would have no difficulty in 
understanding 1 , and, if orthodox, in appreciating and 
enjoying. They were entitled " The Professor's Opin- 
ion of the Bible and the Clergy," " A New Professor 
in Old Theology," and " The Professor at the Break- 
fast-Table," over the signatures, respectively, " Levi," 
" Cecil," and " Ben-Levi." One only of the three 
can be here introduced : — 

"A NEW PROFESSOR IN OLD THEOLOGY. 

" Some hard things have been written, and many more 
thought, about the theology of the Professor, in the < Atlantic 
Monthly.' Perhaps these things have been uncharitable and 
hasty. A candid analysis of his words may show that the sub- 
stratum of his mind is still true to his early training. True it 
is, that when provoked by harsh criticism, or when elevated to 
a chair, at a denominational festival, where he must express 
and defend a liberal faith, or seem ungrateful to his constitu- 
ents, he has said some tart, and even vulgar things, about the 
Orthodox faith ; but what are his unstudied sentiments on this 
point ? What does the poet and the man believe ? What says 
his moral childhood when it gets a chance to lisp sweetly 
through the philosophies of his later years ? In other words, 
what is the theology of his heart, and does this differ, so alarm- 
ingly, from the standards ? 



LOVE OF SATIRE. 125 

" He says it is a great question, what is going to become of 
us all. We, too, call it the great question, and ask some other 
close questions about the profit that accrues from losing this 
interest ; only the essayist is apparently not quite so much in 
earnest as we are about it, and certainly is less anxious than 
the turnkey at Philippi was. But experiences differ in inten- 
sity. We have different temperaments and modes of express- 
ing them. Even poets are not equally sensitive in every 
direction. Truth rejoices in variety, — in many changes of 
raiment. 

" Besides, to this grave question, which the Professor cannot 
discuss seriously in a journal ' devoted to Art, Literature, and 
Politics,' and much less at a dinner-table of personal friends, 
who would consider it quite vulgar to be exercised by any such 
anxieties, he gives answer by a parable, setting the truth in 
exquisite verse. Hear thou 'the lesson for the day' in the 
parable of — 

'THE TWO STREAMS. 

' Behold the rocky wall 
That down its sloping sides 
Pours the swift rain-drops, blending as they fall, 
In rushing river tides ! 

' Yon stream, whose sources run, 
Turned by a pebble's edge, 
Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun 

Through the cleft mountain ledge. 

' The slender rill had strayed, 
But for the slanting stone, 
To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid 
Of foam-flecked Oregon. 

' So from the heights of Will, 
Life's parting stream descends, 
And, as a moment turns its slender rill, 
Each widening torrent bends, — 

1 From the same cradle's side, 
From the same mother's knee, — 
One to long darkness and the frozen tide, 
One to the Peaceful Sea ! ' 



126 MEMORIAL. 

" < Hcec fabula docitf — as clearly as smooth feet and rhyme 
can teach these solid and savory truths : — 

" First, — two termini of human life, opposite and extreme. 
Evidently, the Professor is no believer in the heartless remark 
— ' No matter what a man believes, so he is only sincere, — it 
will all be the same to him a hundred years hence!' Are 
these different results of living infinite ? we are often asked. 
The parable answers Yes, in the sense that they are as far 
apart as circumstances admit ; precise opposites in location and 
temperature. True, indeed, the ancient patriarch separates 
them by means of ' a great gulf fixed,' while the modern poet 
divides them by a ' rocky wall,' or mountain. An inconsider- 
able difference ; only a choice of means for coming at the same 
end. One looked up, the other down, for the cause. Doctrine 
the same in both cases, namely, — wide separation forever. 

"Then, secondly, as to the nature of these two different 
states. The Professor calls it, on the one hand, ' Pacific Sea.' 
The common Christian, with hardly less of poetry, but with 
less power of condensation, says, — ' floating on the bosom of 
God's love,' or ' anchored in the haven of eternal rest ! ' 

" On the other hand, the Professor says, — < Dark, frozen 
tide,' — in order to avoid disagreeable associations with the 
gross material fire of the Orthodox. Well, perhaps there is 
left us, by divine intent, liberty of choice as to the imagery 
under which our finite minds try to conceive of these inconceiv- 
able evils. Some will prefer fire, some frost, according as they 
have been benumbed or blistered. The old Hebrews say fire 
without wincing. Dante says frost ; and I suppose Sweden- 
borg also, since he places his intensest hell on the extreme 
north-west of retribution. Little consequence which. Sub- 
stratum of doctrine is the same, although the costume differs 
with the zone of the believer. The underlying truth is safe in 
•either case. . 

" Then, again, the immediate occasion of these different 
results, namely, — man's choice or will. ' Heights of will ' is 
the moral water-shed, according to the Professor. All right. 



LOVE OF SATIRE. 127 

The New England doctors have always been firm on this point 
of personal guilt ; personal, rather than imputed ; ours, not 
Adam's. Sin, individual or generic, starts from the heights of 
Will. From that lofty peak, half concealed in the clouds, 
character flows down to the right or the left. So hold both 
wings of Orthodoxy ; Edwards, Burton, Shedd ; Emmons, Tay- 
lor, Park. Different theories of the nature of the Will, but 
one as to its grand function in originating sin. 

" The parable also infers a controlling Providence. Surely 
it is not mere accident how the rain falls, else the Columbia 
would sometimes be dry, while the Athabasca overflows. The 
constancy and balance of both argues a wise and firm control 
of the fickle clouds. 

' Those wandering cisterns of the sky,' 

as an earlier poet divine calls them, may not know it, but their 
builder ' telleth their wanderings,' and they shed down or hold 
up, according to law and order. He that notices the fall of 
each hair, leaves not one drop unguided. 

' From the same cradle's side,' &c. 

" Only a sweet lyric dressing for those sturdy truths which 
Inspiration throws out, when it speaks of a loved Jacob and a 
hated Esau struggling in the same womb, and afterwards tak- 
ing their respective courses according to that prevenient 
regard. And surely, if the great question be, what is going to 
become of a man, we cannot wonder that the wisdom and love, 
which watch sparrows and clothe lilies, should have something 
to do with settling it. This weighty matter, at least, will not 
be left to slide. 

" We may remark, in passing, the difference between the 
theology of the intellect and that of the feelings. 'Pectus 
theohgum facit.' The Professor is Augustinian in this great 
red working muscle under the ribs, but Arian in that pale 
substance under the skull. When he rationalizes, he is 
warped from his rectitude ; but no sooner does he begin to 
sing, than he rights up. 



128 MEMORIAL. 

" Herein is revealed a broad principle. The average heart 
is Orthodox. Humanity, when it takes time to consider, 
always favors a positive system, — the regular old-school re- 
gime. 

" Homeopathy and Eclecticism fail to carry the sober con- 
victions of the sickly race. Cauvin, (Calvin) as the Professor 
styles him, was wise as well as mighty in knowing the genus 
man. How hard those who come after him find it to travel 
out of the deep groove which his stalwart mind plowed across 
the field of theological speculation ! And yet the dressing of 
truth is by no means unimportant. We prate about the inde- 
pendence and the immortality of truth ; but no fair lady was 
ever more indebted to tasty costume than she. 

" This gem of a parable is universally popular. Everybody 
will sing it. It will go into the albums and choice extracts of 
hundreds who cannot away with the doctrines it fairly implies. 
It will be sung in the drawing-rooms and the nurseries of many 
who turn pale at the bare mention of Park Street. 

" Yes, theology is under great obligations to poetry. Ortho- 
doxy will go, if only properly trimmed, as blue pills do, sugar- 
coated. Even rugged John Cauvin (Calvin) can pass unsus- 
pected, in the higher circles, so only a graceful poet beau him 
in. Nay, even the sturdy old Genevan has points that can 
charm the sensitive poet himself unconsciously into a loving 
agreement with him. 

" Altogether, this Cauvinism (Calvinism) is a study. It must 
be a sore puzzle to those whose theory despises it. It is, for- 
sooth, bony, and dry, and angular ; but see how flabby a body 
of divinity is without this skeleton. How can such a pulp 
fight, or run, or even stand ? Even its revilers sometimes find 
it convenient and practicable. They say naughty things about 
it in their popular essays and lectures ; they make jocular 
toasts out of it at dinner-tables ; they make as if a belief in it 
would make them fanatics, or fools, or fiends ; and yet their 
songs languish upon the tongue but for some stirring refrain 
borrowed from this ; and they keep their sweetest sonnets from 



LOVE OF SATIRE. 129 

collapsing, by straining them over this strong, iron, sonorous 
framework. 

" Even the Autocrat himself, who surely can live indepen- 
dently of theologians, if any writer can, is not only con- 
scious of his indebtedness to some of this guild, but thus 
frankly acknowledges it in the introduction to the conclusion 
of his last essay in the ' Atlantic ' : ' Lest my parish should 
suppose we have forgotten graver matters in these lesser 
topics, I beg them to drop these trifles, and read the following 
lesson for the day.' Then follows ' The Two Streams.' That 
is, he would redeem whatever reputation for solid sense he 
might have hazarded in his light pleasantries upon that super- 
ficies of human life — manners — by appending to his essay 
a sterling lesson in five stanzas, resting upon as many strong 
points of Cauvinism. In other words still, this Professor in 
the dispensary of truth, finding that his handfuls of sweet pel- 
lets are likely to dissolve on the tongues of his customers with- 
out reaching, by any remotest influence, their hearts, rallies 
his generosity and says, ' Good and patient friends ; now pro- 
vided these fine preparations you have tasted should not do the 
work, here are five other pills, rather large and blue they seem, 
but still approved by the wisest of the faculty ever since the 
days of the renowned son of Monica, Dr. Austin, of Hippo ; 
(adding in a low but distinct whisper) we always give them 
when other things fail!' 

" Finally, every man, great or small, should be judged in 
his own profession or his forte. There he is at home and self- 
possessed. For that he has specially qualified and trained 
himself. 

" M. D.'s are not always profound D. D.'s, although they play 
familiarly with systems, and, in their lucid demonstrations, 
make dry skeletons rattle again. Fine poets are not always 
sound theologians. They can utter words that burn about false 
religion, and make sweet rhymes about genuine religion, much 
easier than doctrinal joints that play easily, or creeds that will 
hold together under a strain. But, because a man is so unfor- 
11 



130 MEMORIAL. 

tunate as to be a lively wit, or a gallant hero at a dinner, his 
sober wisdom is not to be despised when it crops out unex- 
pectedly on other occasions. The heart is a wise man's 
strength. With the heart he believeth unto righteousness. 
And if the child is father to the man, as one of the sages has 
said, then it is occasion for intelligent gladness when a curious, 
wayward son, consciously coming to himself, or unconsciously 
yielding to his better nature, is seen returning to do homage 
to the wiser sentiments he held when he was father to him- 
self. 

" Cecil." 



CHAPTER X. 

MR. HOSFORD AS A FRIEND. 

" Spirits are not finely touched, but to fine issues." 

Shakspeare. 

" Generous as brave, 
Affection, Kindness, the sweet offices 
Of Love and Duty, were to him as needful 
As his dail}'- bread." 

Rogers. 

To understand Mr. Hosford in his social relations is 
difficult, if not impossible, unless certain traits of his 
constitutional temperament are kept in distinct view. 
His nature, essentially and always sympathetic and 
sensitive, was rendered, by education and culture, 
acutely and often painfully so. A delicate shrinking 
from publicity and from scenes of suffering, seriously 
taxed his nervous system, and sometimes rendered him 
silent because his heart was too full for words. This 
refined sensibility and the consequent reticence occa- 
sionally exposed him to the groundless charge of unso- 
cial reserve and coldness. This charge, so familiar in 
the thoughtless world, is often hastily and sometimes 
cruelly brought against those whose hearts, in real 
kindliness and tender love, are immeasurably beyond 
even the conceptions of those who bring it. Of the 



182 MEMORIAL. 

late Rev. Dr. J. W. Alexander, of New York, it was 
remarked by the Rev. Dr. Potts, of the same city : — 

" Upon some, who did not know him, I have heard it said 
that he produced the impression of distance and coldness. It 
is almost the only defect I have ever heard urged against the 
perfection of his personal bearing ; but it is a defect which 
loses its character of a fault, when we know that it arose from 
those physical causes which lie in a great measure beyond the 
range of the will, being almost as involuntary as the beating of 
the heart. Those who would magnify such an occasional 
infirmity, which often occurs in highly nervous and sensitive 
organizations, betray their ignorance of the mysteries of the 
human frame, or their want of candor. In this case the impu- 
tation is the more unjust, as the defect originated from the 
severe shocks of bodily disease which often threatened his 
very life." 

Every word of this is true in the case of Mr. Hos- 
ford. A nervous and refined sensibility, increased by 
culture and aggravated by an enfeebled physical frame, 
subjected him to a sort of protracted martyrdom. And 
the oft-repeated language of his last years was, " My 
sensibilities have killed me" 

It will be readily seen that such a nature must 
greatly modify the modes of manifesting one's friend- 
ship, and must be understood in order correctly to 
understand Mr. Hosford. Eminently true of him was 
the couplet,— 

" Words — they but rendered half his heart, 
Deeds — they were poor to his rich will." 

In a sense somewhat modified, it may be, we might 
apply to him also the lines of Jean Ingelow's " After- 
noon at a Parsonage " : — 



MR. HOSFORD AS A FRIEND. 133 

" Man dwells apart, though not alone, 
He walks among his peers unread ; 
The best of thoughts which he hath known, 
For lack of listeners are not said.'' 

In the little circles of friends at home and elsewhere, 
where Mr. Hosford could dismiss the thought of con- 
ventional restraint, he was a delightful companion. 
Frank, transparent, full of good sense and sparkling 
wit, and overflowing with a delicate kindliness and 
gentleness of manner, he made an impression on the 
hearts of those who really knew and appreciated him, 
which was often, in the best sense, talismanic, and 
which they never will cease to cherish with their fond- 
est recollections. Here, too, was the charm of his 
letters. 

In relation to the depressing effect produced upon 
him by witnessing scenes of suffering, he wrote to his 
wife, then absent, in March, 1851 : — 

"This effect has been deepened by daily visits to Mrs. 

H , and the witnessing the sad scene there transpiring. 

To-day it was too much. I stood at the foot of little S 's 

bed, and sobbed aloud for several minutes. In prayer I was 
choked again, and could recover only by turning thought away 
from that scene, and fixing it on Him to whom I spoke. It 
was a prayer, less an asking, than a giving up of the little 
sufferer to her Saviour, who seemed to be saying, i Suffer her 
to come unto me and forbid her not.' It was not in our hearts 
to ask her restoration. The purpose of God was too clear and 
too near accomplishment in another direction. For the second 
time, therefore, I gave her up to God, then took her by her 
little cramped hand, and though she could not understand or 
respond, bade her ' Good-bye, little Sarah,' and came away in 
tears, as I now am at the thought of it. Not a little of my 



134* MEMORIAL. 

feeling in the case comes from putting our darling in Sarah's 
place." 

Two days later, he wrote : — 

" At three o'clock I went to the house of mourning, tore me 
away from the coffin because I must not lose command of voice 
and tears, and so, with the utmost calmness, went through the 
service. I almost seem to have buried our darling, so vividly 
have I thrown myself into this case." 

At another time, we find him writing : — 

" A dolorous strain from Beethoven has haunted me like a 
spirit for some days, nor can I banish it, but only find a partial 
relief by sitting and thrumming it by the half hour together. 

.... " Last eve I found time to call on Mrs. F ; was 

there at half-past eight o'clock in the evening, and found her, 
ah me ! again in despair, and apparently dying. While pray- 
ing over her bed, I could hear from her lips, ' No hope for me,' 
' No mercy,' &c. With this vision, chanted to by the solemn 
grandeur of Beethoven's dirge, I fell asleep." 

From the mass of Mr. Hosford's letters which illus- 
trate the delicacy and yet strength of his friendships, a 
small part only can be given, and these such as are 
deemed most distinctly characteristic of the man as 
best known to his friends. 

To one in whose family he had long been intimate, 
he writes in reference to a member of the family near 
the end of her earthly journey : — 

" Do let us know, as often as possible, how our sister is, that 
we may know what to pray for, or when to cease prayer and 
give thanks, or (Heaven forbid it if possible) bow down our 
heads and be silent, knowing it is God» Don't doubt for a 
moment that you have our liveliest sympathies, and prayers, 
and our tears." 



MR. HOSFORD AS A FRIEND. 135 

To the same friend, after the death of the " sister," 
and after preparing an obituary notice of her, he 
writes : — 

" Sister and Friend, — How differently seems ' the place 
of graves,' after such a sleeper has taken up her rest there ! 

How much more sacred, — how much less dreadful ! 

I am very glad I was led to go to her funeral, and to follow her 
as long as it was allowed me ; and, when shut off from her 
bodily presence forever, to say with a tearful earnestness, 
' Good-bye, sweet sister, good-bye until the glorious resurrec- 
tion morn.' We have spent many hours in talking of her, and 
then in thinking, in silence, of those peculiar and delicate 
excellences which we have no words in our language to 
express ; and the end of all such conferences is, — a prayer 
that a divine healing may distil upon the souls of the little 
family that survive to mourn." 

To friends in Boston, in whose hospitable family he 
ever found a welcome, he wrote after an illness, July 
6, I860: — 

" I know I ought to have reported myself ere this, but then 
poor humanity is so weak, especially when sick ! Still this is 
but a lame apology for me, for I am altogether comfortable, 
gaining somewhat each day, and yesterday had not one ache 
or weakness all day long to remind me that I was otherwise 
than well. What may be transpiring underneath this promis- 
ing surface, is a query which keeps rising, as often as I recall 
that strange Thursday night at your house. [He refers to his 
first attack of bleeding at the lungs, which occurred suddenly 
during the week of the Anniversaries.] I jolt on horseback a 
little, almost every day ; take a carriage-ride with whomsoever 
invites ; work gently in the garden ; test my obedience by try- 
ing to take all the cordials which M prepares (their name 

is legion) ; spend a half hour each evening in trying to decide 
where, when, and how we shall take our vacation in the coun- 



136 MEMORIAL. 

try ; then another half hour in telling each other how many- 
things we have to be grateful for, — and then float off into that 
dream-land where no troubles but nightmares ever come. 
Thus passes an ordinary day at the parsonage. 

" Across rthese common experiences, there frequently passes 
the very grateful remembrance we have of you and your friend- 
ship towards us, that changes only to adapt itself to our chang- 
ing circumstances. This is more healing to us than all which 
the Faculty can prescribe. 

" I am surprised and greatly comforted by the expressions 
of kindness which I have received from all quarters. I could 
not ask for more or better friends. It would not be safe to 
have more. 

" Come and see how well and happy we are, and thus learn 
what harvests are produced by the sowings of judicious kind- 
ness in the hour of need." 

June 15, 1860, Mr. Hosford wrote to a friend in 
New Hampshire : — 

" This familiar and untrembling hand will at once answer 
half your questions and allay half your fears. It is even /who 
write, and I write it comfortably ; albeit I do not forget the 
recent past, nor blind myself to the possible future. But I 
think that in the good physicians' minds, the probabilities are 
largely in my favor, provided I am careful and restrain myself 
as I have not been wont to do. 

"It was, as you heard, very unexpectedly to myself, on 
Thursday evening ; — I found a crimson fluid welling up into 
my mouth; and this repeated thirty hours afterwards, — not 
much, — but still enough, crevasse-like, to set me thinking 
pretty seriously, and to cast about immediately for the best 
methods of repair, to which methods may the good providence 
of our Lord guide us. 

" I read your truly kind and sisterly note with tears. These 
expressions of love and interest have been hard for me to bear. 
They have melted me down, and disempowered me as no pains 



MR. HOSFORD AS A FRIEND. 137 

or dangers have. And yet I should have died without them. 
It was the few genuine friends I have, that made it hard for 
me to face the thought of death. 

" After I am so strong as to talk safely, how much I should 
like to see you! How many sweet and sacred associations 
would come along in your train ! Perhaps I may sometime 
ride up and drink deep of your rich, cool milk, and deeper 
still of the still richer refreshments of a true, self-sacrificing, 
long-cherished, and rare friendship. The Lord bless you and 
yours now and evermore." 

To another kind and thoughtful friend, he wrote in 
July : — 

" The last berry from that unparalleled ' heap ' is gone ; but 
the smack of them remains positive and grateful on the mem- 
ory. They refreshed both body and soul. We laughed and 
cried as we looked, ate, and gave thanks. Either our friends 
have been especially kind to us during this sickness, or we 
have been specially susceptible and sensitive to such manifes- 
tations, or both, or something else, — for happier hours I have 
never known ; and, but for occasional glances into the future, 
(where, perhaps, I have no business to be glancing,) I should 
not care to be in happier mood. And as to that future which 
it is so natural for us to see all clouded o'er, — why should I 
not read it in the light of the past ? What reason have I to 
assume that the Goodness which has been so abundant and 
wise thus far, will fail and forsake me there ? Thus I school 
my doubting mind back into the attitude of trust and repose on 
God. 

" I am, to all appearance, thriving finely. This exemption 
from toil and care, with good living, agrees with me, evidently ! 
Perhaps it will appear that I was not made for such hard 
work ! But soberly, I do desire health as never before ; and 
all in order that I may do what I have so long failed to do, as 
a Christian minister." 
18 



138 MEMORIAL. 

October 12, he wrote to a friend : — 

" Your many friendly attentions help me to live spiritually 
as well as bodily. They greatly refresh a weary soul which 
has sometimes been almost ready to break. 

" We are now very comfortable, all. Our meetings left us 
something as yours left you, wearied, but not unblessed. They 
were, on the whole, very admirable ; and I wish you and Mrs. 

T could have witnessed what you never can see as well 

among city churches, namely, — a two days' conference of 
country Christians, — confer-ence, — conferring together for the 
good of the churches, and at the same time enjoying each 
others' friendship and hospitality. It strengthens me to find 
myself a minister among such ministers, and a Christian among 
such Christians. After all the allowances we are compelled to 
make, it is evident that the most excellent of the earth are 
identified with the church of Christ. 

" I am comfortable, and mending my ways somewhat as to 
cough. Not to have fallen back during the cares of this week, 
is really to have made progress." 

During the same month, October, Mr. Hosford 
wrote to his friends in Vermont more particularly with 
regard to his health : — 

" I have waited, simply to have something definite to say, 
which thing is precisely what I have not yet found. Am per- 
fectly comfortable every way, — above the average of feeling 
for two years past ; eat bravely, sleep tolerably, ride horseback 
unto soreness, and do nothing the remainder of the time. 
Took cold three weeks ago, had a bad cough, was anxious 
about it ; but it has worked ofi° very much as others have since 
my pleurisy sickness. This it was which made my look and 
feeling so ominous when T saw me. As to winter quar- 
ters and exercises, we are still in doubt, waiting some develop- 
ments to help decide. Among the projects before us are, — 
trip in Tyler's fruit vessel (gratis) to Malaga or Messina, start- 



MR. HOSFORD AS A FRIEND. 139 

ing next month ; or going South, not extreme, but as far as 
Eichmond, and circulate leisurely about during the rougher 
months of later winter ; or, staying here in comfortable house, 
oversee parish matters, and take all the comfort possible in the 
case. Which we choose, or whether a something new which 
may start up, is all uncertain as yet. I have seen some sad 
hours lately, since doctors plead off as to my preaching at pres- 
ent, or during the winter ; sadder, I hope, than I shall have to 
see again, whatever may transpire. I confess I have no great 
pluck to go through such experiences. I don't like to be strug- 
gling against what seems to be the strong course of nature, 
nor would I do it but that it seems duty for others' sake." 

The following*, addressed during the winter of 1860 
to "Dear Friends," will explain itself: — 

"We are so happy in that healthful and comfortable result 
of so much forethought; and that the result can be named 
Mary instead of John. The genus boy is an institution, but as 
to little M , oh how unlike the boy ! How special that cre- 
ation, and in the family how beautiful! How strangely the 
cool, calm, dignified, and manly father's heart glides out toward 
a sweet little daughter, and is stolen by her ere he is aware, 
and to an extent he can never know till his knowledge of it is 
of no avail ! May you never know some things about the 

sweet, melancholy mystery as I know them Love to 

you all and health, from grandpa upward to this latest gift, or 
' recent mercy,' as it used to be called in the Note of Thanks." 

The following was addressed to a friend in Boston, 
March, 1861: — 

" Friend T : As the Boston doctors spoke rather hes- 
itatingly, or at least not very certainly about the Mediterranean 
voyage, I had suspended the thought of it for a season, or at 
least till the next trip of the Young Turk. My progress since 
has rather confirmed me in this. I seem to be doing finely ; 
never before so well since the eventful night last spring. So 



140 MEMORIAL. 

our conviction at present is, — to stay about here or up coun- 
try while the good weather lasts, and if the harsher days of 
winter threaten evil to me, then retreat South, as the wild 
geese do, making melancholy music by the way. 

" The future alone will reveal clearly God's will in the mat- 
ter. For your long-continued interest and kindness, receive 
again my heartiest acknowledgments. I hope to live to prove 
myself not utterly unworthy of it. And were it proper so to 
do, I should go on to express the hope that, at some future 
day, we should be able to see Italy and Sicily together, not as 
invalids, but in full vigor, and not as small fractions of men, 
but our better parts with us. That were a trip worth the 
while ! 

" After two or three days at Windham, N. H., I shall proba- 
bly go to Vermont for two or three weeks. I did considerable 
work last Sabbath, and was refreshed in soul by it, nor was I 
weakened in body." 

December £4, he wrote to friends in Boston : — 

" We are this morning sending off letters where they are 
due ; and now that our hand is in, we conclude to add one 
where it is not due, conveying thither our wishes for a better 
than ' merry ' Christmas, even for one full of thoughtful, seri- 
ous, tender, cheerful delight, such as is becoming in those who, 
like you and us, have learned where the deepest and purest 
joys of earth lie. Once, the word and thing ' merry ' would 
have satisfied us abundantly. Now we are happy in seeing our 
children merry, but oh, how much deeper down our own per- 
sonal experiences lie ! How much the sad past, softened by 
time and by the grace of God, now does to mellow and enrich 
our present, and to temper our future hopes ! And so, out of 
dead hopes we extract honey. From wrecks of our past 
selves, we construct our present better selves ; and thus, by 
climbing upon earthly ruins, reach forth unto the skies ! How 
strange the process in theory ; how kindly it works in prac- 
tice! 



MR. HOSFORD AS A FRIEND. 141 

" But I have got quite off the track, for I was trying to make 
my pen tell you how often we think of you, and how many very 
pleasant remembrances we have of you. 

" We find it a little difficult to adjust our thoughts to your 
city residence and life. We sometimes wonder if you have 
learned how to behave in such circumstances ! whether you 
always keep on the proper side of the walk ; whether you do 
not sometimes forget, and look into shop-windows at the pretty 
things as other country people do, and, most of all, (for this is 
a delicate point for us,) whether you still remember the coun- 
try parson, and could do any thing with him, his carpet-bag 
and umbrella, and his wife on his arm, should such an appari- 
tion sometime unexpectedly break upon your vision ! 

" But curious as are some of our speculations on these points, 
we think we should not be detained from venturing the experi- 
ment, should the opportunity offer. 

" I certainly should venture to the threshold of all this, if I 
could find announced in the papers, the Oratorio of the Mes- 
siah for to-morrow. 

"Kent Street to Beacon Street, pulpit to counting-room, 
friendship in the country to friendship in the city, sendeth 
Christmas greeting." * 

September 25, 1863, Mr. Hosford wrote: — 

"Your letter, so full of kind feeling, has comforted us not a 
little. It assures us that though we are now ' without a peo- 
ple,' we are not without friends, whose love for us will still be a 
home for our hearts. Next week perhaps I may see some of 
those places so full of pleasantest associations as the Hills 
Cedar, and Wellington, and the less rural but no less satisfy- 
ing '72.'" 

October 20th, he again wrote : — 

"I thank you once more for your kind remembrance, and 
for that more than fraternal love, so strange between man and 
man. Write often, for your words of love, while they melt the 
heart, do also comfort and strengthen it 



142 MEMORIAL. 

" As to L , I know she is the same, only more so, and 

therefore needs nothing from me but one of my old letters, 
with all the words italicised." 

Only a single letter more can be introduced in this 
connection. It is addressed to a pastor in the Essex 
North Association, who had been called to pass through 
the deep waters of affliction : — 

"Brother in Christ, in Affliction, and in Hope: — 
Heaven's records can show how much I have thought of you, 
and felt for you during these long and melancholy months 
which have followed the translation of your greatly beloved 
wife. The same record could also show how many times I have 
decided to write you, and then had the decision reversed by 
the thought that it was chiefly a matter between you and your 
God, in which a third person could be of very little service or 
comfort, however kind his intentions might be. So I have 
stood back, as the disciples in Gethsemane did, from their ago- 
nizing friend, not asleep as they were, but watchful and pray- 
ing that your strength might not fail. And this I did from a 
vivid remembrance of what I have experienced within this 
memorable year I have tasted so deeply of sorrow as to know 
the possibility of a ' broken heart.' I should have known the 
reality, had not God been very gentle, not overtaxing the 
bruised reed. So I can encourage you with my personal expe- 
rience of God's tender mercies in a time when only tender mer- 
cies could be borne. After all my observations of others' 
experiences, my own grief was surprising to me, as was also 
the quiet peace which was strangely mingled therewith. The 
whole matter has been, in one aspect of it, a wonderful revela- 
tion to me of self and of God, in their relation to each other ; 
so that, although my loss is absolutely irreparable, I yet cannot 
say I would have it restored, if therewith I must lose the great 
and deep things I have learned. 

" Are your feelings passing through a similar process ? And 



MR. HOSFORD AS A FRIEND. 143 

are you disappointed, as I am, in finding the grief remaining 
so fresh, — in some respects more and more so, and in won- 
dering sometimes how I could have seen my beloved pass out 
of my hands into the Redeemer's, without some violent effort, 
at least of prayer, to prevent it ! Ah me ! I hope you will 
come into the right attitude of heart towards God more easily 
than I do. The loveliness of the dead, the great gain to them, 
the joy we have had for years in their sweet society, — do these 
help you at all to bear their loss ? They do not me ; and so, 
at last, I come back to a silent, unquestioning submission. I 
cannot see, but I trust and bow down. I think the Gospel 
promises us more comfort than this, but I do not find it easy 
to lay hold on it. 

" This is the first great grief to you and to me. Hitherto, 
we were in but partial sympathy with the great family of the 
bereaved, in Christ's kingdom. Now, we are in full fellowship 
with them. And it is something more than theory with me 
now, that they do really help sustain each other by sympathy 
and prayer. I think that great and good fraternity has held 
me up sometimes when otherwise heart and flesh had failed. 
I know there is a solid and precious reality in this, judging 
from the feelings which I have had, during this year, towards 
you, and all my friends in Christ whom I have known to be 
lying and weeping under His heavy, but still benevolent 
hand. 

"Mrs. H recently saw Miss Fidelia Fiske, in Boston, 

from whom she gathered many precious particulars concerning 
the last experiences of your beloved wife. If she must go, she 
could not have gone in a better manner, and perhaps not in a 
better time. I regret (as deeply and as piously as I can any 
thing which God has rendered impossible,) that I could not 
have been with you at the funeral service. Perhaps I could 
have said nothing audible, but I should have prayed and given 
thanks inwardly, as I have few such occasions of doing. I 
cannot understand why she should have felt and expressed 
what she did concerning me ; but accepting the fact, I must 



144 MEMORIAL. 

say that few things in all my experience here, have ever 
affected me in the lower deeps of my soul, as that testimony 
from the dying saint has done. God grant me true worthiness 
to hold fellowship with her in the better world. 

" And now, dear and stricken brother, the Lord be with you 
unto the end. You have seen the worst of earth. What 
remains cannot but be better. So go on in hope and patience 
unto the end ; which, perhaps, this sorrowful experience will 
help you to welcome, as you could not have otherwise wel- 
comed, such a baptism as death." 



CHAPTER XL 



MR. HOSFORD S LOVE OF HOME. 

" Around each pure domestic shrine 
Bright flowers of Eden hlooui and twine, 

Our hearths are altars all ; 
The herbs we seek to heal our woe 
Familiar by our pathway grow, 

Our common air is balm. 

11 O joys, that sweetest in decay, 
Fall not, like withered leaves, away, 

But with the silent breath 
Of violets drooping one by one, 
Soon as their fragrant task is done, 

Are wafted high in death ! " 



Keble. 



Among Mr. Hosford's intimate friends, and espe- 
cially the members of his own household, it has often 
been remarked that no one could really know him in 
his most attractive character, who did not see and 
know him at home. Thoroughly domestic, he was 
never quite at ease when absent from the home-circle, 
and always calm and self-possessed there. 

" It would not be easy," writes an intimate friend, " to esti- 
mate how largely Mr. Hosford's success as a minister was due 
to the rest and joy which he found at home. In the weariness 
and reaction which followed pulpit services, when troubled by 
doubtful questions of duty, or chafed by outward misunder- 
standings and disappointments, to this spot he turned with a 



19 



146 MEMORIAL. 

trustful assurance that was strength itself. Here he seemed 
always best and completest. Whatever he found without to 
instruct or please did not become real gold to him, till it bore 
the home-stamp and inscription. The hearth was indeed the 
altar upon which he loved to lay his rich offerings of mind and 
heart. All that he gathered in the study of art or the enjoy- 
ment of music, in communion with Nature, or in intercourse 
with kindred minds, became the possession of the family, — a 
possession the more entire, as coming through his keen per- 
ceptions and perfect tastes. His fine imagination, playful wit, 
and rare powers of expression, here had freest play, and made 
him the most delightful of companions. 

" Sacred as he held the domestic relation, it is not strange 
that it entwined itself so closely with his religious feelings, his 
soul climbing by the finite to the Infinite, and counting it no 
profanation to illustrate and comprehend this through that. 
When he spoke of the ' great mystery ' by which Paul symbol- 
ized ' Christ and the Church,' there was a deep and tender 
meaning in his tones, that told how suggestive he found the 
emblem. Absent from home, his thoughts and wishes were 
ever tending backward or forward to it. In travelling, the 
enjoyment of new or beautiful scenes was kept in suspense by 
the home-longing, and became perfect, only as they were 
brought back by memory at his own fireside. 

" It was for the sake of his family chiefly, that he desired to 
live, and sought to be 'a well man,' patiently enduring, to this 
end, the absences from them that were the bitterest trial of his 
last years. Remembering all the failings of heart and flesh 
that attended such separations, the many difficulties, doubts, 
and struggles which one of sensitive nature can hardly escape, 
during the years of a long ministry, — it is good to think how 
much of solid, conscious happiness was Mr. Hosford's portion 
in his home-life. Blessed was that experience of twenty years 
of wedded love, of which, reviewed in the very hours that the 
shadow of eternity was sinking upon it, he could say, ' It has 
been perfect— perfect} ' " 



MR. HOSFORD'S LOVE OF HOME. 147 

In illustration of Mr. Hosford's attachment to home 
and family, the following selections have been made 
from a mass of letters, all of which are beautiful, and 
some of the best and tenderest of which are withheld 
from the public eye, only through that delicate sense 
of propriety which was ever so prominent in his 
domestic as well as his ministerial character. 

August 5, 1853, he wrote : — 

" During the spring and summer both my children have 
been sick, and, as I at the time supposed, unto death. This 
was a deeper grief than I had ever felt before. When God 
scattered the cloud, my gratitude and joy were proportionally 
intense. Again and yet again I bless Him for the family rela- 
tion, and for my own more especially." 

In 1854, referring to certain religious services, in 
which he had been unusually aided to speak a word in 
season, he wrote to his wife : — 

" I have returned from these services feeling that our hold 
upon our children is much feebler than God's is. I pray daily 
that we may have learned the lessons of affliction, without hav- 
ing to drink deep of the bitter cup ; and also, when I ask that 
the children may live, it is always with the understanding that 
they live well." 

August £9, 1856, the day after the birth of his 
fourth child, he playfully wrote to his friend Mrs. 
T , of Boston : — 

" Grandma pronounces him complete ! and she knows, for 
she has seen more than all we beside. You see, that from ten 
o'clock last evening to this morning, is too little time to settle 
the question of name for such a wonder, and so we wait. We 

hope he will be so much greater and better than J or 

C , as to deserve to be ranked with their nonpareil sister 1 



148 MEMOKIAL. 

Just think of it, — I mean, of the exquisite carefulness and 
kindness of that good Providence which gave you a little sis- 
ter, and gave us a little brother ! Why, all the forces in the 
universe, conspiring, could not have balanced the sexes any 
more perfectly in our household ! 

" The children have not yet got half satisfied with touching 
their little brother's fingers, and eyes, and ears, and nose, and 
not more than half satisfied as to the angel's name who 
brought him down and dropped him into his mother's arms." 

In June, 1857, a ft er a severe illness, he wrote to 
Mrs. H , from Boston : — 

" This rain settles the point that you will not come to-day. 
Indeed, I do not know as you have thought of coming, however 
pleasant it might be. But it got running in my head yester- 
day that you would come, and I was sadly disappointed that 
you did not. How much longer must I stay here ? I am per- 
fectly comfortable, but think I should get along just as fast, 

and just as well, at home. The W 's, and W 's, and 

H 's, and D -'s, all have put in to have me come and 

see them, and stay, but this, you see, is utterly impracticable, 
unless I remain through another week. Yesterday was a good 
day in Zion — Henry B. Smith and Prof. Shedd. Evenings I 
don't venture upon. 

" Tell the children that I have been into a bird-store, where 
are hundreds of canaries, and all the feathered tribes besides. 
Six Java sparrows sat on one perch and smoothed their 
dickies ; five little puppies barked and tumbled over each, 
other in one pen ; eleven Guinea pigs ate grass in another ; 
then squirrels, rabbits, &c, &c, enough to busy your eyes for 
two hours, to see. It was, on the whole, the prettiest sight I 
have yet seen, -^- so many little happy families of children 
playing together. Do our kittens play thus pleasantly? I 
hope so, for surely, God did not make them to snap and scold 
at one another." 



MR. HOSFORD'S LOVE OF HOME. 14*9 

At nearly the same date as above, he writes from 
Waltham, after a visit to Saxon ville : — 

" Yesterday was a sad day to me, Saxonville is so changed 
in its people, and your old home seemed so lonely, your good 
mother not sufficing to restore its former life and cheerfulness ; 
and the little north parlor being so suggestive of you in those 
days when you were so free from care ; altogether it was sad. 
I sat a long time and mused, even unto tears ; and felt a ten- 
derness for you more even than usual. I could hardly divest 
myself of a sense of guilt or cruelty in having been the occa- 
sion of taking you away from what was then so pleasant a 
home, and of introducing you to scenes so wearing upon you. 

" I am enjoying my stay here, as highly as any stay away 
from you can be enjoyed. From all these delights I shall be 
glad to speed away homeward, just as soon as I decide it 
proper and best so to do. Love to all the children. How 
sweet that little family seems to me from this distance. I hope 
no one of them will do any thing while I am absent, to make 
it seem less sweet on my return." 

In September, 1859, Mr. and Mrs. Hosford visited 
Lakes Memphremagog and Willoughby. During his 
absence, he wrote to the family at home as follows, 
first from the " Owl's Head Mountain House," at the 
former lake, in Canada East : — 

"Here we are, right under the very ' Owl's Head'; and 
three hours ago, there we were, right on the very crown of his 
head, exactly between his ears, and on the precise bump of 
benevolence ! Three thousand feet perpendicular, above this 

water's edge ! Of course we are well and full of love 

for you all. Tell B I kept his dear mamma quite safe, 

and helped her down the steep places very carefully, because I 
knew he would wish to have me do so." 



150 MEMORIAL. 

" Littleton, Thursday. 
" Family all, — Hither we came yesterday, leaving Wil- 
loughby in a terrible snow and rain storm, encountering snow- 
squalls all day. We are greatly refreshed by good news from 
home. Especially delighted are we to know that the children 
are reported as so good ; this is better to us than sight of 
mountains or lakes. If the mountains don't freeze up, we shall 
go over to Franconia this p. m., and down to Thetford on Sat- 
urday." 

In July, 1860, he wrote from Windham, N. H., to 
Mrs. H- : 

" Your note and your child have come to hand, — both full 
of your own life and love. It is something like 2l visit from 
yourself, and yet so unlike such a visit as to leave me decidedly 
sober, — even lonesome. I long, with longings inexpressible, 
for something further and better, and might be impatient for 
it, did I not remember how rich in all good experiences have 
been the last fifteen years of my life. If the future brings me 
less of the same thing, it will not deprive me of these remem- 
brances. Perhaps they alone are as much as we ought to 
expect or ask, for the future 

" We get along bravely here. Horseback daily through the 
greatest number of rural, woody, grassy roads ; fishing one day ? 
berrying every day, napping or noting ; reading in shade in 
front-yard hot afternoons, and all the unmentionable et ceteras 
which cluster around such leading exercises as these." 

In August, 1860, Mr. Hosford wrote to Mrs. 
H — from Littleton : — 

" Evening, 8£ o'clock. I have felt not only sober but sad 
to-day. My future, and your present, — mine uncertain, and 
yours so certainly burdened by love, fears, and cares, — this 
has overshadowed me all day. And then how sorely I miss 
you in all happy experiences, and especially on grounds where 
you have been happy with me! On arriving here, I went 



MR. HOSFORD'S LOVE OF HOME. 151 

straight to the hill from which we together saw that glorious 
sight of the mountains, — God's mountains, clad in the beauty 
of holiness. But they were hidden. Since tea, I have been 
there again, and saw them lift their veil just in season to reflect 
to me the last rays of the setting sun. They were true, though 
not seen ; and so are some other objects on which my heart 
rests for its very life ! So I am comforted again, and, after 
supplications, shall lie down with many sincere thanksgiv- 
ings." 

"Three sweet little children had their play-houses just 
where we stood to admire the mountains. I talked with them 
a long time for our children's sake. I hope ours will be as 
civil and modest to strangers as they were. 

"The view of the mountains in sunset to-day was hardly 
less wonderful than that we saw, but entirely different. Par- 
tially hooded, — two rainbows resting one end of their arcs on 
the Franconia Mountains, — a full moon soon after, rolling up 
from behind the vertex of another mountain, — clouds exceed- 
ingly varied and beautiful in form, and all in rather grave 
colors, but tender and delicate, — as pink, stone, lead, &c. 
Altogether, well worth the journey from Wells River here, 
although I had many doubts about coming." 

To his daughter, he wrote from Orford, N. H., in 
October, 1862: — 

" We were greatly delighted and comforted by your letter 
received yesterday. I am glad you get along so well in Latin, 
and expect to enjoy much with you when we read Virgil 
together ; and enjoy nearly as much when we play duets to- 
gether on the piano. Keep on, study hard while you do 
study ;. and be very thorough in what you go over, whether it 
be much or little. 

" You don't know how deeply interested we are in all your 
efforts to be and live a good Christian. Nothing gives us so 
sacred a pleasure, as to know you are struggling daily to be 
better in your heart, or in your inmost character. Our earnest 



1 52 MEMORIAL. 

prayers ascend constantly, that God would help you in this 
most important of all matters. 

" I was greatly delighted with your mother's Sabbath even- 
ing Bible exercise with her children, and wish I could have 
overheard it, or had some active part in it. If they all imbibe 
the spirit of what they repeat, and try to live by it every day 
and everywhere, their Heavenly Father will love them better, 
and take better care of them than their infirm and very imper- 
fect earthly father can. Would it not be a good plan for us 
all, like Dr. Alexander's family, to select some one text that 
we will all try to live up to and live by, for a year, or some 
months ; and will not you and mother select one ? 

" Now, dear, I know you are daily trying hard to be a good 
child. Try also to help the little brothers to be good and kind 
to each other, and especially to dear mamma, whose heart has 
always a heavy load to carry when papa is away." 

To his youngest son, he wrote, October 10, 1862, 
from Orford : — 

" Dear Isa, — I would give a new dollar to see your bright 
face this morning ; but, as I cannot have thai, I will do what is 
next best, namely, talk with you a little while through my pen. 

" Yesterday I started off through the woods, thinking much 
of the time how Isa would enjoy it with me, and how dear little 
Mattie did enjoy it last year when I took her through the 
woods, jumping her over the brooks, lifting her over the old, 
mossy logs, and sitting to rest on the big rocks. The ground 
was all carpeted with beautiful leaves, and others were falling 
thick as snow-flakes. I send you two or three specimens. 
Don't you think they are as pretty as mamma's best carpet ? 
I do; and yet I should a great deal rather have seen mamma's 
carpet, with her on it ! Well, after I had walked and thought 
a good while, I heard an old partridge drumming just as I used 
to show you how. So I crept along slily so as not to scare 
her, and when at last I saw her through the trees, sitting 
still on a log, hoping, I suppose, that I should not see her, I 



MR. HOSFORD'S LOVE OF HOME. 153 

drew up my gun, and powsed at her, and in one minute she 
was dead. I did not see another, so I brought her home 
alone ; but to-day I hope to find one or two to put with her, 
and then we shall have a nice breakfast or dinner. Papa is 
trying hard to get well, so that he can come home and live with 
dear mamma and her children, for there is no place that he 
likes so well as the place where they are. You must ask God 
every night to ' bless dear papa and make him well.' I hope 
you are a very good boy these days, and that you don't do one 
naughty thing to make mamma unhappy. If you are so good, 
your papa will be very happy, and will get well faster than if 
you were naughty. Good-bye." 

In March, 1863, he wrote from Boston to his chil- 
dren, then in Vermont: — 

" Dear Children, — We hope you are all getting along 
finely in your studies and behavior, and if you are, we propose 
to reward you for it by not coming home to train you, as soon 
as we otherwise might have done. Unless something occurs to 
call us home, we should be glad to linger around here till 
after next Sabbath. 

" Heard Oratorio of St. Paul, by Mendelssohn, rehearsed, — 
a treat long to be remembered. Can hear it again next Sat- 
urday. Thus we drive along pell-mell; but no place now 
seems so attractive to us as ' the home on the ridge,' where we 
hope ere long to be once more." 

To " Bennie," from Thetford : — 

" Mamma bade me tell you how happy we were that you 
were trying so hard and so successfully to be a good boy and 
a good scholar. I hope you are quite as anxious to be a good 
boy at home, as in school. Good lessons are important, but 
not so important as good character, good thoughts, and feel- 
ings, and principles." 

September, 1863, from Isles of Shoals : — 

" Dear wife, dear children, dear home, and dear all things 

20 



154 MEMORIAL. 

and all persons who have helped make that home so charming, 
how warmly could I embrace the least of you all ! Yes, how 
precious would be the dust of the feet which should bear any 

of you hither to-night I hope the children are trying 

to do well. My prayers ascend, my heart breaks, my tears 
fall, my love flows for them daily and continually. I know 
not how a weak father could love more strongly or more ten- 
derly." 

Autumn of 1863, from Orford : — 

" Dearest all, — Your letter made me sad and homesick 
of course, and less willing than ever to be away from so sweet 
a family and home, especially on such sacred occasions as 
November 12. 

" This house seems dreadfully lonesome. I have strolled all 
over it, but find it so unlike what it was last year ! In finding 
my old hunting hat, I came upon Isa's old palm-leaf, bound 
with black, ragged indeed, but so full of his beaming face ! I 

don't wonder W 's eyes filled with tears in coming across 

such mementos of young, joyous life. And in hunting, I some- 
times forget my game, in thinking over the sweet fellowships 
of the same places last year. 

" Saturday, hunted over the familiar grounds, and you were 
brought very near when I scared five partridges exactly where 
you routed up the first flock last year." 

A few days later, he writes again to his family : — 

" I have long felt that I ought to be a better man at heart 
for having such a family ; but I now feel that I ought also to 
try to be a well man for their sake ; and so I am trying to be. 

" You have all been continually upon my mind since I have 
been here. It is so sadly different when you four are out of 
your wonted place, that the place loses its identity. It be- 
comes vacuum. 

" It gives me solid comfort to hear that the children are try- 
ing to do well, especially in that best department of well-doing, 



MR. HOSFORD'S LOVE OF HOME. 155 

namely, helping their mother through the straits where the 
good Providence seems to be leading her. I hope my last 
sight on earth may be, — they holding her hands ; as well to 
be led by her as to comfort her. Perhaps my own doings in 
that direction may be nearly over. At this I will not com- 
plain, so only I can see them taking up my work to finish it." 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE BEREAVED FATHER. 

" I sometimes hold it half a sin 

To put in words the grief I feel, 
For words, like nature, half reveal 
And half conceal the Soul within." 

" This truth came home with bier and pall, 
I felt it when I sorrowed most, — 
'T is better to have loved and lost, 
Than never to have loved at all." 

Tennyson. 

In the spring of 1862, Mr. Hosford's family was, 
for the first time, visited by death. The victim was 
the " dear little Mattie," the sweet and gentle " pet- 
lamb " of the fold. To the father's sensitive and lov- 
ing heart, ever throbbing with the tenderest domestic 
attachments, this " first great sorrow " was overwhelm- 
ing. Though he bowed in unmurmuring submission 
to the dispensation of Heaven, he never fully recovered 
his wonted elasticity. His own health was already 
seriously shattered ; and month after month he lin- 
gered, sorely chastened yet ever patiently cheerful, in 
that charmed spot, so well and so tenderly known to 
many a bereaved parent, — 

" Where, in the shadow of a great affliction, 
The soul sits dumb ! " 



THE BEREAVED FATHER. 157 

Nearly every letter and sermon which he wrote, dur- 
ing the year following this affliction, seems tinged with 
hues reflected from that chamber of death. 

It is proposed to give extracts from some of his 
letters in order to show how the grief of such a heart 
as his can overflow. 

To friends in Boston, March 7> 1862, he wrote : — 

" We are overshadowed by a dark cloud. Dear Mattie has 
been for two days very sick of croup, and is no better, although 
this morning seems so bright and healthful. For myself, I 
have more fears than hopes in regard to her, and am trying to 
school the humanity within me to say, ' Thy will be done ! ' " 

To the same friends, March 10th : — 

"Our dear little girl seems decidedly better. Yesterday 
a. m. her cough began to loosen, and she raised somewhat. 
This toned down her ugly symptoms at once. We now have 
as much hope for her, as before we had fear. If the disease is 
not in an ambush, it is retreating. Oh, such four days and 
nights ! Years, years of experience in them, and that of the 
very deepest kind ! We supposed that our Heavenly Father 
was drawing us along to that state in which we should have a 

full and perfect sympathy with you, and the W 's, N 's, 

S 's, and, in fact, nearly all of those friends who have rep- 
resentatives from their domestic circles in the Better Land. 
And this we call life ; and this we cling to ; and weep over 
those who are delivered out of it ! What strange .beings we 
are ! What very strange beings we are ! But whatever be 
the result of this in regard to Mattie, we are certain of carry- 
ing as deep traces of it in our hearts, as we do of our watch- 
fulness and grief in our eyes. Pray for us, but not too pos- 
itively that the child may live ; for there is something better 
than life, and many things worse than death. Yours hur- 
riedly, and with tears both of grief and of gladness." 



158 MEMORIAL. 

To the same, March 12th : — 

" I wish I could write with as much hope as before, but I 
cannot. With all our efforts, we make no headway against this 
terrible enemy." 

In a postscript to this letter, added subsequently, he 
says : ■ — 

"I have been looking at our womanly little sufferer, and 
would hope I have been too incredulous of the Divine 
Goodness in regard to her living. God grant it may be the 
great sweet surprise of my life, to see her well again, i. e., if it 
be best for her and us. Otherwise, not. I wish to be ready 
to welcome any thing He may send." 

To friends in Vermont, he wrote on the day of Mat- 
tie's death : — 

"March 13, 1862, 3 o'clock p. m. Strange as it may seem 
to you, I feel an unspeakable relief as I tell you that our sweet 
and womanly little Mattie is now, so early in her life, and so 
unexpectedly to us, translated into the spirit-land. I say 
relief, because her agonies for the past twenty-four hours have 
been intolerable for us, and proved too great for her to bear 
any longer. Croup, true croup, in other words, the deceptive 
croup, the most terrible of diseases for sweet children, this had 
the honor of severing the tie that united her graceful body to 
her still more graceful spirit. 

" During the last twenty-four sleepless and seemingly end- 
less hours of agony, our prayer was for death, not for life. We 
gave thanks when God took her home, and gave thanks that it 
was she, — so much more perfectly conformed to the heavenly 
economy than our other children, and thanks too that she thus 
escapes such agonies as we, her parents, are now bowing 

under Saturday, two p. m., we bear her away to 

burial, and so ends our sweet communion with her body, leav- 
ing our minds free to converse with her spirit, and to receive 
from it whatever of influence the laws of the invisible world 



THE BEREAVED FATHER. 159 

permit her to exercise. Our tears flow in floods, for she nes- 
tled in the very warmest nook of her parents' hearts ; but those 
tears cast no reproach upon the Sovereign Disposer, of whom 
we can still say, ' He hath not dealt with us after our sins, nor 
rewarded us according to our iniquities.' Yours, 'cast down, 
but not destroyed.' " 

To friends in Boston, March 14th: — 

" l Even so, Father, because so it seemed good in thy sight.' 
I have no other explanation of the event, and while faith is 
awake, I need no other. Sometimes, for the moment, faith 
falters, and then comes the cloud ; but it soon passes, and I 
know that ere long I shall see the bow upon it. Perhaps the 
time will come when I shall see nothing but the bow. I take 
it that the atmosphere of heaven will have the quality of sift- 
ing out of earthly remembrances all the selfish, and dark, and 
even disagreeable associations, while it clarifies the vision of 
what remains. 

" We have many things to say. We are full to overflowing 
of them, but we must be face to face when they are communi- 
cated. We can no more send them than we can send smiles 
or tears." 

On the same day, March 14th, he wrote to other 
friends : — 

" We now have the right to call ourselves your friends in 
full felloivship, for the only lack to it heretofore, namely, the 
fellowship of family affliction, is now supplied. We, too, have 
a sweet child in heaven, and alas ! we too have the dread 
vacuum left in our hearts." 

To a neighboring pastor, whose repeated bereave- 
ments had prompted him to express his sympathies, 
Mr. Hosford wrote, March 19th : — 

" Dear Brother and Sister, — Your sympathies are gen- 
uine and Christian, and they fall on hearts bruised sufficiently 



160 MEMOKIAL. 

to appreciate them intensely. We feel unwonted drawings of 
heart toward those of our friends who have sat under the same 
great shadow, and especially toward those who have been so 
healed and comforted by divine grace, as to find their purest 
present pleasures in the remembrance of those sorrows. Won- 
derful, that we can enjoy so much in friends ; wonderful that 
we can then suffer so much for them ; and most wonderful of 
all that we can then learn to joy in the very sorrow. So does 
the Great and Only Wonderful surprise us on this hand and 
on that ! So rich in goodness, so plenteous in mercy, that He 
can afford to permit these dark appearances, and still be infi- 
nitely loving." 

March 24th, he writes : — 

" You have probably seen in the papers what God, whose 
goodness is so deep as to seem dark, is doing with us ! Our 
dear, sweet, quiet, blameless, womanly Mattie ! the one of all 
the four to draw us most strongly after her, — the one of all 
the household to go upward with the least of change ! We 
have every comforting and alleviating thought which such a 
case admits of; enough such to make outsiders say, ' Blessed 
be the Lord who hath taken such a child, and taken her so 
soon ! ' But all these soothing and sustaining thoughts do not 
prevent the great billows of grief from occasionally returning 
to overwhelm us. Our faith is strong, but our feelings 
stronger. The religious within us reigns serenely much of 
the time, but there are other times when the human rises and 
asserts its right to weep aloud. So we are struggling along, 
from hour to hour, never having fortitude sufficient to antici- 
pate more than an hour or a day at a time. 

" I did not suppose such an affliction would so paralyze us, 
and make every duty seem a burden. I did not suppose that 
the loss of one fourth in a household, would seem to destroy 
the value of all the rest. I did not know how weak I was in 
what I supposed to be my strength. Perhaps I should add 
that I did not know how real and positive the consolations of 



THE BEREAVED FATHER. 161 

strong religious truths could be in such a case. Amid all our 
weakness and short-comings, I still will bless God for sustain- 
ing grace given to our dying child, and to her living, dying 
parents." 

May 20th, he writes : — 

" Our sense of loss deepens constantly my loss of that sweet, 
thoughtful, saving influence, which radiated so steadily from 
her presence, ..... just what a poor, rough, selfish, worldly 
man so much needs. I am learning daily how powerful it was 

on me for good We shall be very dull scholars indeed 

if we do not live better and die easier for Mattie's life and 
death! Her last few conscious hours on that memorable 
morning, developed an almost unearthly maturity of look, and 
thought, and act, which we now dwell upon as the most 

remarkable experience of her little complete life If 

anybody has dying grace, she had." 

To friends in Vermont, recently bereaved, he wrote, 
June 31st: — 

" You will now understand, better than before, the depth of 
my affliction, and will not think it so strange that it should fol- 
low me so long, with a freshness ever new. U 's bursting 

out into loud cryings when he came unexpectedly upon little 
Frederick's hat, some months after his decease, is reenacted 
here almost every day of our lives ; and not unlikely you will 
also learn what this is, and what it means. Oh, to have such 
a shadow settling over every thing earthly, all relishes so dead- 
ened, all ambitions so tempered down, all joys so modified, — 
and to have all these great effects flow from the death of a 
little child, — it shows what mysterious possibilities we are 
living among, and what powers of joy or sorrow we are bear- 
ing about in these souls, oftentimes without knowing or sus- 
pecting it ! Poor little Arthur's suffering seems to have been 
worse than Mattie's, unless the disease paralyzed his sensibil- 
ities in part. Oh, her great, cool eyes looking up to us with 
21 



162 MEMOKIAL. 

more than human understanding, and silently pleading for that 
breath which we could not give ! I pray I may never be com- 
pelled to witness it pr its like again. But I need not tell you 
of this, which, in its substantial elements of sorrow, is so like 
what you have just passed through. I trust the deep baptism 
of grief, (and you can now see how grief for a child may be 
deeper than any other, or at least tenderer, for love goes down- 
ward rather than upward ;) I trust these recent, and to us new 
griefs, will help us in the higher experiences of the Christian 
life. We ought now to find it easier to live unworldly and 
unselfishly, and easier to leave the world when our turn 
comes. The invisible world is much more a reality, and a 
nearer and more precious reality, now that I have such a per- 
sonal treasure in it. Indeed, it does seem very near to me, 
since I daily talk with one in it, — really in it, conscious and 
blessed, though I see her not with the bodily eye 

" And now, having lived over my affliction anew in this fresh 
outgoing of sympathy for you at home, I turn away to other 
duties. 

" Much of the little flesh that was clinging to my bones has 
been dissolved by the corrosion of silent grief, wearing upon 
it night and day. Still I work on with a secret conviction that 
I shall not bear up under it many years." 

To his wife, he wrote from Belmont, in August : — 

" I went this morning to church, but I was thinking, most 
of the time, of dear, departed Mattie, as I have been, indeed, 
ever since you left. Oh, how many times, of late, has the 
thought of her melted my heart and moistened my eyes ! And 
from her, I turn thought back again to you and the remain- 
ing children, and get comfort in the hope and expectation that 
God will help hold you up by means of them. Oh, how deeply 
you lie in my heart, so very deep, indeed, as to make few rip- 
ples on the surface, — so deep that no earthly experiences can 
shake you out, no, not even the deep experience of death. 

" Now, dearest, go on your toilsome, lonely way, cheerfully 
and rejoicing, and 1 will try to do the same. The ' Cross 



THE BEREAVED FATHER. 163 

Bearer ' is my daily counsellor. Oh, how deep down it has 
driven thought and search ! How utter the humiliation which 
it naturally begets ! I have recently learned some new things 
about myself. But must I be utterly bruised and dissolved, 
in order to know the whole ? And if so, can I ever be brought 
to say, ' As God wills ' ? Can I look on you and our children, 
and still say, ' As God wills ' ? 

" Read the ' Cross Bearer ' yesterday, with prayers and tears. 
Heard fine music in the p. m. Alas, alas, dear Mattie ! Half 
my life has already gone after her, and the other half remains 
out of regard to you. May the Heavenly Mercy pity me, and 
take care of you all." 

To " friends dear and long-tried," in New Hamp- 
shire, he wrote, Sept. 17, 1862: — 

" We have had a very comfortable summer at home, until 
my flurry, [a fresh attack of bleeding] not very unlike the 
first at Boston, only not as alarming. I immediately sus- 
pended work, and went about playing and enjoying myself as 
well as I could in the circumstances. It has made me face the 
awful question of giving up preaching excejot occasionally ; and 
I was meditating a full withdrawal from this field which has 
proved too much for me, when Mr. H , seeing my di- 
lemma, and moved with pity, sent me a check for a full year's 
salary, $1250, in order that I might be off and rest, without 
any care or thought as to pecuniary matters, and the necessi- 
ties of the family. This offer modified my plan to resign 
entirely, and led me to ask release from all duties for a sea- 
son, longer or shorter as need be, probably a year, at which 
time the final question will receive its yea or nay. 

" I brought home from Boston, yesterday, a picture of our 
sweet Mattie. It was so perfect and lifelike as to make us 
cry aloud. Oh, how much longer must our poor hearts thus 
bleed, ere they will lie perfectly still, and repose on God? 
You speak of ' the anniversary of Mary's death.' Is not every 
day and every thought an anniversary ? To me, life for six 



164 MEMORIAL. 

months past has been little except one long thinking of the 
dead and of heaven, and of longings for rest from the conflict 
of life, for which my spirit is as poorly fitted as the body. 
Perhaps I am all wrong in this matter. I know I am weak 
and thoroughly human ; but I hope not wholly wicked in it." 

North Thetford, Oct. 1, 1862. 
" Yesterday was? I think, the saddest day I have seen since 
sweet Mattie's death. I walked up to Tater Hill, on the road 
where she and I went one year since, — like David of old, 
4 weeping as I went.' Every step was on consecrated ground, 
and I paused wherever I remembered that we paused and 
rested. But oh, the difference ! I could restore her very 
vividly, but the pure delight my soul then felt in her I could 
not restore ! I sat upon a mossy rock in the woods, and cried 
aloud. There was no ear to be disturbed by it, and so I cried 
long, until I was wearied but not satisfied. Oh, why is it that 
so sweet a presence as hers, so near and so real, should make 
me so sad ? Why does it not throw a peaceful charm over 
life?" 

"November 12. To-day I shall not forget as dear Mattie's 
natal day; she whose early death we do not deplore, but 
whom, yet, 'we long for irrepressibly.' Her sweet spirit 
seems to float before my eyes all around these scenes of her 
last country visit ; but I get a touch of her gentle hand, or a 
real sound of her soft, sweet voice. This spiritual communion 
with her is very sacred, but not satisfying. It leaves me long- 
ing and sighing, and the chief if not the only comfort at last, 
is in the thought that I shall ere long meet her in a way that 
will be satisfying. To-day, I suppose, you will visit her peace- 
ful grave, but you will be no nearer to her than I." 

"November 14. It seemed so hard, so wrong for me to be 
absent from such a family anniversary, [Mattie's birthday] 
me, who ought to be the chiefest one in it ! I feel somehow 



THE BEREAVED FATHER. 165 

guilty of injustice to Mattie that I should allow myself to be 
where there are but few things to remind me directly of her. 
I fear I shall too soon forget her, or rather, suffer my memory 
of her to sink among the commonplaces of life. This should 
not be ; for she was every way such a rarity as I shall not be 
likely to see again. I am happy to know that her resting- 
place is at last arranged properly, so that you can leave it 
with a blessing upon it. I am sure she must have felt the 
blessing which your sweetly sad anniversary left upon the spot. 
Do you suppose she understood why ' Dear papa ' was not 
there with his offerings of love, and did she forgive me for the 
absence? Dear, dear child! I am glad she is done with 
tears, and cares, and fears, and knows of our state in such a 
way as not to disturb the sweet flow of her thoughts and affec- 
tions. I rode down from Orford yesterday, and kept my eyes, 
as long as I possibly could, upon the mountain-side, up and 
down which I went with her so merrily one year ago. Oh, 
what a change in me has that short year wrought ! " 

"November 16. I went to Tater Hill again. Wept much 
by the way, but did not lose self-control. I was more than 
ever poignantly distressed at the loss of Mattie, and wondered, 
as never before, why we did not struggle harder with God to 
have her left to us longer. 

" Yesterday, in my walk, I felt more homesick for Haverhill 
than ever before. I really longed to be back as the minister, 
or if that were impossible, then it seemed it would be a great 
refreshing of soul to be there for a few days, and see some of 
those whose friendship has been so true and so dear to me. 
Will preaching there again ever be my privilege for a year or 
years ? " 

Just a year from the last date, Mr. Hosford wrote 
to his wife from Orford, N. H. : — 

" I wept anew at the remembrance of dear, dear Mattie, and 
took up the tearful subject again after I was in bed alone, 



166 MEMORIAL. 

worrying through the whole subject, and finding no comfort 
save in the thought that she had not got to wade through our 
sorrows, nor again go through that dark valley from which her 
delicate nature shrunk. I cannot but say of her, ' It is well 
with the child ' ; still my heart keeps sighing, ' Oh my loss, my 
unutterable loss!' But we must let the deep subject rest 
with other deep things inevitable, and wait patiently to see 
clearly the wisdom and love which we know must lie buried 
in it somewhere." 

During those days that, from the combined influence 
of grief, illness, and enforced absence from home, went 
so "painfully on," Mr. Hosford often jotted "stray 
thoughts " in a small Note-Book, under the general 
head of " Cloud-land." The following are speci- 
mens : — 

" Any compensation for her loss ? God does not design a 
compensation. The soul of the affliction is, — No compensation 
possible. Compensation would destroy the religious benefit." 

" How much more intense and lasting the bitterness than 
was anticipated ! How can wounded humanity resist healing 
or cicatrizing, so long ? " 

" We put our children's gold and silver in banks, that it 
may be safe, and increase, for time of greater need. Why 
wonder that God treats His children's jewels in like manner ? " 

« Why should the loss of one shade all that remain ? Why 
not see -f- 3, instead of 4 — 1 ? " 

" One day, the delight of the household ; the next, the house- 
hold plead for her death ! " 

" God seems to say, ' Can you give up this child ? ' Then, 
1 Can you see it die, and be calm ? ' then, ' Can you see it 
suffer ? ' finally, ' Suffer as long as I will ? ' Oh, how thor- 
oughly God can break down and melt these hearts ! By ho\V 
many steps up to the climax ! Do you see that father passing 



THE BEEEAYED FATHER. 167 

friends in the street without observing them ? Do you mark 
that mother's abstracted and vacant look at table or in com- 
pany ? Ah, they are thinking hard, but their thoughts are in 
the spirit-land." 

" And now how real heaven is ! a home for a part of our 
own selves ! May not we then inherit it ? Shall not our daily 
thinkings concerning.it now be more vivid and influential? 
This localizes heaven to our faith. The lamb is with the 
Good Shepherd, and where both are, there is heaven." 

"The consecrated child, by the Spirit's help, may be in 
advance of our hopes. How sickness or the approach of death 
brings out maturity ! It is almost awful to think how much 
of God and of divine help there was in her during the last 
hours." 

" ' Ah, sir, the good die first.' ' The loveliest in the family 
is called.' Yes, and they were the loveliest because the Spirit 
had been preparing them for the translation. The decree 
which calls them also prepares them to answer the call." 

" Imagination gilds the lost past ; why not in like manner 
and equally the certain and more glorious future? Would 
not that be precisely the religious faith required ? " 

" "We never conceive of her but as smiling and happy, always 
serene as a spring morning. Why, then, should such a vision 
make us sad ? " 

" Distance from the living children does not greatly disturb 
our joy ; why then distance from her who is really nearer than 
they ? To the one, we telegraph in an hour ; to the other, 
instantly." 

Though Mr. Hosford did not regard " little Mattie " 
as lost to him, but rather 

. " Within the door 
That shuts out loss," 

" the intensely human " that was in him, sighed and 
wept itself out lovingly and longingly to the last. 



168 MEMORIAL. 

Among the last efforts of his pen was the writing* 
of the following, on " Searching for an Epitaph." It 
was published in the " Boston Recorder," in February, 
1864, and was read and will be re-read by many with 
tearful interest : — 

"SEARCHING FOR AN EPITAPH. 

"Afflicted Friends, — You ask of us an epitaph for your 
dear little Alice. Alas, that the same blow should have fallen 
so soon upon you, also ! We little thought it, when, two years 
since, your then unclouded spirits did so much to comfort us 
under our first great sorrow. We had hoped that the merciful 
Father would contrive some method for you to reach the 
results of a sanctified affliction without leading you through 
the deep waters of such an affliction. But it was rather His 
plan that you should come at it in such a way as would make 
you feel that now you are in full fellowship with the great com- 
pany of the faithful who have entered into rest before you, not 
one of whom reached that rest without passing through a bap- 
tism of grief. 

" But to the subject of your letter. Perhaps we can best 
answer you by rehearsing to you our own melancholy experi- 
ence touching the same subject. Our own dear child, you 
recollect, was entombed in March. May, with its warm soil 
and springing grass was soon upon us, urging us to the choice 
of a final resting-place for her in the already populous ceme- 
tery. Oh, how hard it seemed to us to plant her amid a great 
congregation of the dead, as if she were no more to us than 
any one of them ! Ere long we fixed upon a little plot upon 
a southeastern slope, sufficiently apart from the thoroughfares 
to be quiet, and still sufficiently near them not to seem lonely. 
There she was buried from our sight forever, the father assist- 
ing the undertaker in every step, while the mother and chil- 
dren each threw in upon the casket a little boquet, and then a 
handful of earth, with the prayer that her Saviour would cause 



THE BEREAVED FATHER. 169 

it to lie soft upon her sleep ; and so we turned away, leaving 
her to the society of the sweet birds, to the care of guardian 
angels, and to those frequent and tender attentions which 
afflicted parents know so well how to pay to the sleeping-place 
of a beloved child. 

" Then followed the matter of a monument, or rather, tablet* 
Oh, how many marble-yards did we examine, how many ceme- 
teries walk through and through again, hoping to find marble 
in some form which would express her character. Alas, we 
might as well have examined all the girls' schools in a great 
city, hoping to find the materials of humanity in a form and 
complexion that would satisfy us, as another sight of our own 
departed one would have done. 

" So, at last, we abandoned the hopeless search, and took a 
marble which would excite little remark any way, but which we 
hoped might bear some inscription which would be a perpetual 
comfort to us. We were pleased, at least, that its whiteness 
represented so well her purity. But it was dreadfully hard to 
put up so cold a substance to stand and perpetuate the name 
of one whose heart was so warm with heaven's love. No mat- 
ter how soft the air may be, nor how warmly the sun's beams 
may bathe it, it remains ever true to its cold and severe mis- 
sion, namely, to speak of death and not of life. We rarely 
visit the grave without passing a hand over its smooth surface, 
although the act causes a shudder, it is so very like that mem- 
orable chilly touch of the sweet sleeper's forehead on the first 
morning after her death. 

" And this brought us to the matter of the epitaph, which, 
contrary to expectation, we found the most embarrassing of 
all our duties to the beloved dead. At first thought, noth- 
ing seemed easier than to select the precise record for a life 
so vivid and so unique, and yet, it was precisely because her 
image in our hearts was so well-defined and characteristic, that 
we found it impossible to get that distinctness fully expressed. 
Shall we give you a transcript from our pocket memorandum 
of some of the more promising records which, at different 



170 MEMORIAL. 

times, suggested themselves ? Of course we could not be sat- 
isfied with the hackneyed form of bare name and dates. Such 
a bald and dry record would never comfort or strengthen us 
in our great need. Then we thought of the briefer but more 
expressive formula, ' Little Mattie.' But the more we consid- 
ered this, the more it seemed too like an unalleviated sigh. In 
justice to our God and to our own hearts, we felt we must say 
more or less. Then we wrote thus : ' M. W. H., whose bright 
earthly life of seven years melted into the brighter light of 
heaven, March,' &c. But consideration assured us that there 
was a seeming affectation of prettiness about this language 
which would wear away long ere we had mastered our grief, 
and so we dropped it out of the account. 

"Ere long, our hearts uttered their tender sadness thus: 
1 Little Mattie, whom we cannot deplore, but whom we long 
for irrepressibly. She left us March,' &c. 

" Or thus, in a similar vein : ' Little M., whose sweet life 
of seven years, the stricken household remember with gratitude 
and tears. She left us,' &c. 

" For a while, we thought either of these expressed our feel- 
ings as well as might be in so few words ; but ere long we 
began to find that no mere expression of our own feelings, 
however true the expression might be, could help us through 
the deep waters. We did not propose to visit the grave merely 
to sigh and break our hearts anew. We were to go there in 
hopes of catching a gleam of the Resurrection and the Life, 
else we were as well at home. And so we drew our pencil 
across these also. 

" This next quotation caused us, perhaps, more thought and 

hesitation than all the others, and barely escaped election at 

last : — 

" ' My blessed Master saved me from repining, 
So tenderly He sued me for his own ; 
So beautiful He made my child's declining, 
Her dying blessed me as her birth had done.' 

"The stanza is exquisitely beautiful, combining in a rare 
harmony the tenderest human pathos with the sweetest Chris- 



THE BEREAVED FATHER. 1/1 

tian resignation. Besides, we felt that it was substantially 
true to us. But while our hearts assented unto its main 
truths, and found a daily solace in repeating them, we still 
found (and the feeling grew upon us after our attention was 
once turned to it) that we could not sing 

' So beautiful he made our child's declining,' 

and then revert in thought to her death by the terrible croup, 
without a painful shock. 

" Ah, we exhausted every expedient we could think of then, 
and have not yet ceased trying to make her transit seem 
' beautiful ' to us, as we know it must seem to her Redeemer ; 
but no skill or piety of ours can avail to spread out the shining 
robes and wings of the loving angel commissioned to translate 
her, so as to conceal from our memory the frightful agonies 
preceding her death. To us her declining was not beautiful, 
but her escape from it was. 

" And so we were reluctantly shut off from this, which we 
should have been so happy to use, had all the circumstances of 
her death favored it. 

" You may well suppose that by this time, we began to grow 
weary of our search, but as we did, we became gradually con- 
vinced that no uninspired words would ever satisfy us long, 
and so we were kindly led back towards God's Word, from 
which it had been wise in us not to have departed so readily 
at the first. The final result of all, a result we ourselves 
little thought of reaching, was, that we took a simple text from 
the lips of one of the best of men, as also one of the first of 
whose affliction in the loss of children we have any record, 
and modified it thus : — 

' LITTLE MATTIE : 

The Lord gave her, November, 1854. The Lord took her away, 

March, 1862. 

Blessed be the name of the Lord.' 

" And with this, we have come to be more than content, not 
but the last clause is a severe test of our faith every time we 
read it ; but we find it good to try anew, on each visit, to lift 



I 



172 MEMORIAL. 

our faltering faith up towards that serene and lofty standard. 
We know that sometimes we shall be enabled to repeat it with 
the whole strength and ardor of our soul. 

" In a word, then, dear friends, we recommend an epitaph 
which is brief, simple, and scriptural, having in it a substratum 
of Christian doctrine which will furnish you a ' strong consola- 
tion.' Your grief will remain fresh and last long. I cannot 
tell you how long, except in this indirect way, namely, that it 
will wear out any consolation which is not in some way divine. 
The time will come when the tenderest friends of the pres- 
ent hour will cease to speak to you of your great affliction. 
Then, oh, how much you will need to meet at the grave the 
voice of that one Friend, who in all your affliction is Himself 
afflicted, and who is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. 

" You may think it strange that we should tell you again 
that your grief may remain fresher and continue longer than 
you now anticipate, even though your hearts become thor- 
oughly and sweetly submissive to this stroke. Alas, a truly 
broken heart is not soon healed. Indeed, your hearts may 
never cease breaking anew over that little grave. But this we 
say, not for your discouragement, but only that you may be less 
disappointed at God's dealings with you in this new experi- 
ence, and that Ave may add as the glorious counterpart, that if 
you never tire of going to that grave to weep there, the Great 
Consoler will never weary of meeting you there with divinest 
consolation. 

" Yours in the great affliction." 

The preceding passages are a record of almost heart- 
breaking bereavement, irrepressible longings for the 
lost, and grief which stirred the inmost depths of the 
soul. It seems right to say that there is another side 
to the picture. The stricken father walked before the 
world with wonted calmness and self-control, showing 
the inward emotion only, perhaps, by some added shade 



THE BEREAVED FATHER. 173 

of gravity, or, if it were possible, a deepening of his 
ever-full and large sympathy with kindred sufferers. 
Remembering the self-contained dignity with which he 
endured the affliction that was so keenly felt, it is most 
true to say of him, " Thou hast been as one, in suffer- 
ing all, that suffered nothing." 



CHAPTER XIII. 



THE PURSUIT OF HEALTH. 

" Suffering is the work now sent ; 
Nothing can I do but lie 
Suffering as the hours go by : 

All my powers to this are bent. 
Suffering is my gain ! I bow 
To my heavenly Father's will, 

And receive it hushed and still : 
Suffering is my worship now." 

" Nothing before, nothing behind : 
The steps of Faith 
Fall on the seeming void, and find 
The rock beneath." 



RlCHTER. 



Whittier. 



Mr. Hosford's health, which, previous to his 
bereavement, had been seriously shattered, became 
more and more obviously feeble after that event. An 
allusion has been made to the sudden attack of hemor- 
rhage, during" Anniversary week, in May, 1860, at 
the house of Deacon Tyler, in Boston. The bleeding 
was not very copious, but it was startling, and pros- 
trating, and quite unexpected. To his wife, who has- 
tened to him the next day, he said, with entire calm- 
ness, and yet with consciousness of his danger : — 

"Last night, as I lay here alone, I was full of peace. 
Heaven seemed very near, and it seemed so easy to step in, — 



THE PURSUIT OF HEALTH. 175 

only you stood in the door and shut up the way But 

for you and the children, I would not have it otherwise." 

The bleeding continued at intervals for several days, 
and he remarked in reference to this : — 

" I am surprised at my calmness, and could almost think 
this strange peace which fills my soul to be dying grace." 

Again : — 

" I cannot be thankful enough that I was raised from that 
sickness [1857] on Water Street, and permitted to see this 
work of grace among my people. God seems to have owned 
my labors, and, imperfect as it has been, I cannot now feel 
that my ministry has been in vain. Yes, it is easier to lay it 
down now, than it would have been then." 

Mr. Hosford rallied in some measure from this 
attack, and at length attempted to struggle on again 
beneath the load of care and responsibility incident to 
his office and work. But he had scarcely a day free 
from suffering, and more or less of exhaustion. Again 
and again did he, with genuine heartiness, adopt the 
familiar words : — 

" My feet are -worn and weary with the march 
Over the rough road and up the steep hill-side ; " &c. 

After his bereavement, his sense of loss, and the 
ever-bleeding wound of his sensitive heart, doubtless 
contributed considerably to increase the general depres- 
sion of his physical system. One bright and beauti- 
ful link in the chain that bound his domestic circle 
together had suddenly been broken, and his house, and 
home, and heart, had now for the first time been con- 
secrated to Death. And though he early made the 



176 MEMORIAL. 

happy discovery that " pain and pleasure are akin to 
each other, and that man enjoys only in the measure in 
which he can suffer," it was not without a sore conflict 
that he was enabled to say, with all the heartfelt 
emphasis of sweet experience, " Blessed are they that 
mourn," and consciously attained that sturdy faith by 
which one " walks on the waves" of the troubled sea. 
Like every other sufferer, he had to be taught, little by 
little, that while God is " patient because Almighty," 
man becomes patient, not through his strength, but 
through the ministry of his weakness, — a sense of 
which is gained only through the discipline of trial ; 
and that, in this discipline, he has to be led, a poor, 
blind, weak, and wayward mortal, by a way that he 
knows not, before he fully finds that he can be patient, 
or afford to wait upon either God or man. 

At times the struggle of the bereaved parent and 
the consciously failing pastor, with bleeding sensibili- 
ties and slowly but surely waning hopes, was so 
severe that he was led almost to long for a discharge 
from the warfare, and he sometimes breathed out his 
emotions in those striking words of Mrs. Browning's 
" De Profundis " : — 

" Only to lift the turf unmown 
From off the earth where it has grown, 
Some cubit-space, and say, ' Behold, 
Creep in, poor Heart, beneath that fold, 
Forgetting how the days go on.' 

" From gracious Nature have I won 
Such liberal bounty ? Maj r I run 
So, lizard-like, within her side, 
And there be safe, who now am tried 
By days that painfully go on ? " 



THE PURSUIT OF HEALTH. 177 

But the great and necessary lesson which God 
designed to teach him, was at length fully and hap- 
pily mastered. And thenceforward, while he had not 
less of the human, he became far more manifestly a 
" partaker of the divine nature." 

It is said that some of the pagan tribes of Africa 
invariably change the place of their residence after the 
occurrence of a death in the family, because they have 
a horror of the power that bereaves them. By re- 
moval, they hope to escape the power, or the pres- 
ence of the deity who exercises it. How unlike to 
this is the experience of the Christian ! His God, 
though He leads by a way unknown and by the path 
of sorrow, awakens in him more and more confidence 
in His goodness, the more he suffers ; and, ordinarily, 
instead of being inclined to desert his home, because it 
is desolated by death, the survivor loves it and clings 
to it all the more fondly. This was especially true of 
Mr. Hosford. He had always loved his home, but he 
now loved it and the very spot where the great shadow 
came over him, more than ever. And this rendered 
the trial of leaving it, in his search for health, all the 
greater. But a sense of duty dictated it, and, during 
the remainder of his life, he was absent from his fam- 
ily, or from Haverhill, a large part of the time. 

To a friend, who had invited him to accompany him- 
self and others on an excursion to the Catskill Moun- 
tains, he wrote, September 1, 1862: — 

" If I were quite well, I should strike in with a keen relish ; 
but being as I am, I cannot think it would be so well for 
23 



178 MEMORIAL. 

health (and this now is the great thing) as a retreat inland 
and upland, towards horsebacks, and woods, and quiet. I 
shall try hard and conscientiously to get well, so that I may 
once more have part, not only in labors, but in these pleasant 
recreations with friends. So far as I have any plan now, it is 
to go North next week, spend two months, more or less, there- 
abouts ; and then, either go into winter-quarters there, or go 
West, or take a voyage, or, — or, — or, — &c." 

He went, accordingly, to New Hampshire, and, Oc- 
tober 1,5th, wrote from Orford to his wife : — 

" 'T is a chilly morning, and I write chiefly to get warmed 
up. Sunday, at church, or walking at evening, or in some 
other place and way, I took a very bad cold. Kept about, as 
usual, Monday, but in the night coughed according to my 
worst coughs. The doctor [his brother] did not hear me till 
two o'clock, when he took me in hand with a practice at once 
tender and heroic. He stopped it in due time 

"As I have never yet been able to see that wet or dry, 
hot or cold, affected me much any way, save that I have uni- 
formly felt better in autumn and winter, and have always pro- 
tested I could breathe easiest in damp air, I cannot feel the 
great force of argument for any great change at present. I 
find that many winters here are about as cold and nearly as 
dry as those at Minnesota. What should you think of burrow- 
ing here under the snow, and amid the comforts of this home, 
till March or so, then via Philadelphia and Washington to the 
West, taking a one or two months' look at Northern Illinois 
and Minnesota ? I honestly think it would be a very rare cli- 
mate afar off, that would be an equivalent for W 's daily 

watch and care." 

October 20th, he wrote to his friend W : 

"I spend most of my leisure time up here in wondering 
what you are about down there amid the hurly-burly of busi- 
ness, express trains, bogus telegrams, and lying extras. Few 



THE PURSUIT OF HEALTH. 179 

such things disturb our quiet up here. One train and mail 
daily, — to bed at eight or thereabouts in the evening ; hunt- 
ing partridges pleasant afternoons, sleeping in the chair at 
odd intervals, and such an easy, good-natured way of doing 
work and bearing cares as consists perfectly with undisturbed 
repose of spirit ; a dreamy, Indian-summer sort of life, — such 
as is quite welcome to, and altogether becoming in, one of my 
years, who has worn himself out in hard service. 

" Come, suspend your turmoil-life for a little, and see if this 

sort of hazy experience will not do you good also Can 

you hunt ? Plenty of partridges are drumming in the woods 
for you. At least i" have not made their numbers much less. 
Or fish ? The deeps of our outlying ponds are populous with 
old-settler trout and pickerel, — so they say. Or preach ? I 
have more calls than I can answer, and will gladly make over 
the surplus to you, as an ' experienced lay helper.' Or any 
thing else you have a propension for, here it is. Come, and 
help yourself, and I will help you." 

To other friends : — 

" Of course you know where we are, for has n't it been in all 
the papers ? But the papers did not state that we are all here, 
(alas ! all that remain,) that we five board with our brother, the 
doctor, — a nice, comfortable home where, for want of suitable 

schools, we, i. e., Mrs. H and myself, drill the children in 

the mysteries of science from ' baker, brier, cider,' up to Latin 
and algebra. 

" Now as to the great matter for which I am here, 

health, T hardly know what to say. I wish M would fill 

out this part of the letter ; but, as she is busy elsewhere, I will 
do my best. Well, then, I eat well, sleep tolerably, saw wood 
moderately for an hour or more, walk do., and, when the 
weather favors, hunt two, three, or four hours. Are not these 
symptoms of health ? Per contra, the symptoms of sickness 
are, that I am here, that I write nothing but letters, read little, 
take wines and oils, get rubbings instead of giving them, dose, 



180 MEMORIAL. 

and wait for something to happen which will help me to some 
great decision." 

To friends in Boston, he wrote in December : — 

" I am doubly careful and conscientious about being much 
in the open air daily. Accordingly, this clear, cold day, I have 
been in the woods and ' under arms,' four long hours, driving 
a vigorous and somewhat successful war against the partridges. 
But so nicely was I encased in flannels, wash-leather, and 
india-rubber, that the snow did not get a momentary chill so 
far in as where /was." 

After announcing some improvement in his prospect 
for health, he sorrowfully adds : — 

" But lower down in my soul than any thing I have said, lies 
the conviction that I had better try a change of labor, at least 

for some few years. My pastoral charge at H seems 

more and more satisfactory to me ; indeed, I desire nothing 
more than sufficient health to endure it. But I have a deep 
impression that it is the will of Providence that I serve Him 
elsewhere." 

To other friends, he wrote : — 

" Our winter passes very pleasantly, considering we always 
have to bear the thought that for the time we are broken 
down, set aside, and may never be wanted again. Oh, how 
soon one who has slipped out of his place in the great whirl is 
forgotten ! How many stand ready to put on his boots, do his 
work, and reap his reward ! But, if God has any farther work 
for me, he will open place and occasion, and with more wisdom 
and love than I could exercise toward myself. On this truth 
as on a rock I rest, and wait the opening future." 

To friends in Belmont, he wrote, December 22d : — 

" The vision of Wellington Hill haunts us continually, and its 
presence in our memories is a continual benediction upon us. 
It came afresh to mind last evening, as M was reading 



THE PURSUIT OF HEALTH. 181 

aloud to our little broken, but still pleasant family group. Bun- 
yan's account of Christian's toil upward to the palace Beauti- 
ful, and thence onward to the views of the Delectable Moun- 
tains. And our hearts immediately took up the refrain, in 
which there was some shade of melancholy mingled, ' When 
shall our eyes and our hearts be refreshed by another view of 
that unequalled landscape, and by another interview with those 
friends who are always the foreground in that landscape.' But 
our longings for what we have not shall never make us 
unmindful of what we have ; and so we will continue to be 
very happy here in our rural retreat. Our present condition, 
though having somewhat of the character of an exile, is still 

very pleasant 

" I am not only grateful to the good providence of God for 
so much of restoration, but also for its suggestions in sending 
us here for the winter, instead of banishing us to Minnesota, 
or across seas, so far from what we love best. According to 
present appearances, this place, with its accompanying recrea- 
tions in the open air and in the woods, is doing for me all that 
climate and regimen can do. If now the Master will smile 
upon us, we can ask no more." 

To a friend and neighbor in Haverhill, he wrote, 

December 25th : — 

"As our own family-sources of happiness dry up, we are 
learning to be happy in others' happiness, and thus it is that 
we rejoice for you and with you to-day, with a special joy. 
May you see many such days all together. At the same time, 
we cannot but hope you will grow each year more independent 
of these occasions as sources of happiness, your hearts settling 
down peacefully but firmly upon what our friend, John Lord., 
calls ' the eternal certitudes.' " 

To the same friend, he writes again, January 10 s 
1863: — 

" Although we are as pleasantly situated as it is possible ta 



182 MEMOKIAL. 

be, under the circumstances, we begin to have unusual long- 
ings for a something more. We do desire to see our old home 
and well-tried friends again, and once more to have part in 
their daily experiences, as friend with friend, or as pastor with 

people. Will this again he ? Cough and rahl remain 

unchanged. Otherwise, decided improvement. 

" The box of ' cod-liver ' came safely, not one bottle, I regret 
to say, broken. This I take devoutly every day, and don't lose 
flesh upon it, which is stating in the strongest possible terms 

that I am a strong man The children enjoy the large 

liberties of the country highly, and will develop muscle if not 
brain. I am glad for them that they can have one season's 
taste of those rural scenes which were so pure to my boyhood, 
and are so fresh and delightful to my manhood Mat- 
tie's sweet and speaking picture hangs over my desk as I 
write, — indicating, as I love to think, that she herself is quite 
as near as her picture, and may be the bearer to me of those 
strangely sad-pleasant, those melancholy and yet heavenly 
thoughts, which often come into my mind so unexpectedly, and 
linger there as if they would make it their home." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

WANING HOPES. 

"Be near me when my light is low, 

When the hlood creeps, and the nerves prick 
And tingle ; and the heart is sick, 
And the wheels of Being slow. 

" Be near me when I fade away, 

To point the term of human strife, 
And on the low, dark verge of life, 
The twilight of eternal day." 

Tennyson. 

During the winter and spring of 1 862-63, our clear 
brother, though very feeble, had been encouraged, both 
by his own feelings and by his physicians, to believe 
that he was, on the whole, slowly improving. That 
he had, however, many misgivings about the future is 
evident from nearly every thing he wrote. 

As the weary days " went on, went on," it became 
more and more apparent that the discipline to which 
the Father subjected the child was working "the peace- 
able fruit of righteousness"; and, while he was still 
as far as ever from being a stoic, he could, with more 
and more emphasis, adopt the language of a sufferer 
who long since trod the path of sorrow on his way to 
his rest : " O Lord, when the flail of affliction is upon 



184. MEMORIAL. 

me, let me not be the chaff' that flies in thy face, but 
let me be the grain which lies at thy feet." 

He fully recognized the necessity as well as the real- 
ity of tribulation's flail, and felt more and more com- 
forted by the assurance that it was held by God's hand. 
He was delighted with the transparency of God's in- 
tentions. While the bitter pill, given by earthly parents 
to the sick child, is often sugar-coated, not so much to 
sweeten it as to deceive the reluctant child with the 
false idea that there is nothing bitter beneath the thin 
disguise, he was happy in the thought that all the bitter 
that his Heavenly Father had given him, He had, with a 
sublime candor, forewarned him to expect and tenderly 
asked him to receive at God's hand as God's honest 
decision in regard to the necessities of his case. 

And they who saw his waning hopes, notwithstand- 
ing his earnest endeavors to recover health, could mark 
the increasing emphasis with which he uttered such 
sentiments as those expressed by Miss Waring's beau- 
tiful hymn upon the words, " In returning and rest 
shall ye be saved ; in quietness and confidence shall be 
your strength": — 

" With a heart full of anxious request, 

Which my Father in heaven bestowed, 
I wandered alone, and distressed, 

In search of a quiet abode. 
Astray and distracted I cried, — 

' Lord, where would'st Thou have me to be? ' 
And the voice of the Lamb that had died 

Said, ' Come, my beloved, to me.' " 

During the spring of 1863, while yet at Orford, 
Mr. Hosford was again brought very low by a new 



WANING HOPES. 185 

attack of his overmastering disease. His physicians 
and friends felt it to be quite doubtful whether he 
would ever see Haverhill again. In these doubts he 
participated. " But for your sakes," he said to his 
family, " I would gladly lay down this poor, exhausted 
body. ... As to the future, my future, how can I feel 
any anxiety about that, when the provisions of God so 
exactly cover my case ] " 

Again, during three weeks of extreme prostration, 
he once said : — 

" I never had any remarkable experiences to fall back upon 
now ; but this I know, there is a broad covenant of grace in 
which it has been the aim of my life to have part. . . . How 
strange it seems that I should have broken down just as I did, 
when, to our view, I was most needed ; when it would seem, if 
my life were ever worth any thing to the Master, it is now that 
I am thoroughly furnished. I don't understand the plan at 
all. It is not necessary I should. It is a righteous plan, be- 
cause it is God's plan, and best for you and for me. God will 

lay nothing upon us that He will not give us grace to bear 

Perhaps I ought to feel more anxiety about this matter, but I 
have looked it in the face so long that it does not appall me. 
I know my own sinfulness and short-coming, every way. It 
seems as if I never did any thing right in my life. Such mixed 
motives as entered into my best doings ! But I know, too, 
what Christ has done for me, and in His righteousness I trust." 

At this period of suffering, Mr. Hosford often read 
and pondered the beautiful poem entitled " The Border 
Lands." As he declared it to be expressive of his own 
feelings, and essentially true of his state at the time, it 
is doubly interesting to read the words now rendered 
so sacred in the memory of his friends : — 

24 



186 MEMORIAL. 

"THEOUGH THE BORDER LANDS. 

" Father, into thy loving hands, 
My feeble spirit I commit, 
While wandering in these border lands, 
Until thy voice shall summon it. 

" Father, I would not dare to choose 
A longer life, an earlier death; 
I know not what my soul might lose 
By shortened or protracted breath. 

" These border lands are calm and still, 
And solemn are their silent shades, 
And my heart welcomes them, until 
The light of life's long evening fades. 

" I heard them spoken of with dread, 
As fearful and unquiet places, 
Shades where the living and the dead 
Look sadly in each other's faces. 

" But since thy hand hath led me here, 
And I have seen the border land, 
Seen the dark river flowing near, 
Stood on its brink, as now I stand, 

" There has been nothing to alarm 

My trembling soul ; how could I fear 
While thus encircled with thine arm ? 
I never felt thee half so near. 

" What should appall me in a place 
That brings me hourly nearer thee ? 
When I may almost see thy face, 
Surely 'tis here my soul would be. 

" They say the waves are dark and deep, 
That faith has perished in the river ; 
They speak of death with fear, and weep ; 
Shall my soul perish ? Never, never! 

" I know that thou wilt never leave 

The soul that trembles while it clings 
To thee : I know thou wilt achieve 
Its passage on thine outspread wings. 



WANING HOPES. 187 

" And since I first was brought so near 
The stream that flows to the Dead Sea, 
I think that it has grown more clear 
And shallow than it used to be. 

" I cannot see the golden gate 
Unfolding yet to welcome me; 
I cannot yet anticipate 
The joy of heaven's jubilee; 

" But I will calmly watch and pray, 
Until I hear my Saviour's voice, 
Calling my happy soul away 
To see His glory and rejoice." 

Mr. Hosford, having rallied sufficiently to resume 
his pen, wrote to a friend, April 27 tn • — 

" Yes, dear brother, I do try to make Him ' a very present 
help in time of trouble,' — in my troubles, in mine of this day 
and hour. But it is so much harder than to believe it in the 
genera], or for others ! 

" For three or four days I have been considerably more com- 
fortable, though the evidence is conclusive that the lungs are 
left in a poorer state permanently. . . . From present appear- 
ances, there will not be any immediate change for the worse. 
We rather hope for a gradual strengthening. A week or two 
will assure us how God intends to deal with us in this great 
matter. We have thought much about a return to Haverhill. 
We have no other thought than to be there, if the sickness 
were soon to terminate. If it lingers, then it might be as well 
to stay here longer." 

A few days later, he wrote to a friend in Haverhill : 

"Your last letter stirred many deep and tender feelings 
within us. Verily, human friendships have an important part 
to play, especially when flesh and heart seem failing. 

" Your suggestions about going to Haverhill, &c, we con- 
sider favorably, but shall not need to hurry so long as I seem 
to be amending, as now. When the time comes for me to lie 



188 MEMORIAL. 

down at last, I desire that it may be among those with whom I 
have spent the best part of my life. . . . We cannot yet decide 
about a return to Haverhill. Should n't wonder if we come 
in June to tarry until a final removal from the home that has 
been so dear to us ! Oh, that will be a sadder day than I 
hoped ever to see ! I can hardly endure the thought in pros- 
pect. As soon as I am a little stronger I must begin to look 
around for a something to do and a somewhere to be." 

May 1st, he wrote to his friend, Mrs. W : 



" Mrs. H , myself, and B , have been out ' Maying ' 

this bright morning. I creep along rather slowly, with short 
breath and faltering steps, yet with cheerfulness and joy. The 
ability to do this once more, and so soon, seems to us hardly 
less than a new creation for us. Perhaps we had better say 
't is an answer to earnest friends' prayers. We walk out and 
sit by the hour in the sweet, clean woods, now so full of the 
beauties and melodies of spring life, from all which we seem to 
drink in health, as we surely do inspiration and hope. 

" ' The Lord of Hosts is wonderful in counsel, and excellent 
in working.' It would be wrong for me to have any one of 
these sweet days which He lengtheneth out to me, clouded by 
any unchristian fears for the future; so with the excellent 
Whittier, I try to say, — 

" ' No longer forward nor behind, 
I look with anxious fear ; 
But grateful take the good I find, 
The best of now and here.'' " 

Even during these days of great weakness, Mr. 
Hosford did not wholly abandon the practice he had 
followed for many years, of furnishing occasional arti- 
cles for the newspaper press. From those he wrote 
during the season, two are selected and here intro- 
duced, for reasons which the reading of them will 
make obvious. The first is entitled — 



WANING HOPES. 189 

"GOD'S EOBINS. 

" We welcome back the faithful pair which have, for many 
years, had their nest immediately before our chamber window. 
They seem to know and to love us, as we do them. They hop 
leisurely out of our path as we approach them ; they follow 
close upon our plough and spade, which turn up for them their 
favorite food ; and during incubation, mistress robin sits, and 
only turns her white-rimmed eye down upon us as we walk 
underneath, as much as to say, * Ah, is it you ? — all right.' 

" You need not be told what a sweet singer robin is ; how 
varied, how rich, how mellow, how full of a strange resem- 
blance to human sentiment his never-tiring melodies are. 
Should the robins, some spring, forget their reckoning, and 
appear no more among us, their absence would awaken regrets 
quite akin to mourning. Had any other bird been the martyr 
in place of poor ' Cock Robin,' that inimitable nursery tale 
would have lost its chief pathos. 

" This season I have had more leisure than usual to observe 
and enjoy the robins. They have done not a little to brighten 
and sweeten the monotony of confinement, and they have 
taught me some things which I had not learned in the schools. 
The praise-character of their singing has especially impressed 
me. How spontaneous and hearty, and how early is it ren- 
dered. The faintest dawn in the east does not break the pre- 
carious sleep of the invalid too early for him to hear this sweet 
and joyous matin, going up, as if the worshiper had long been 
waiting for the gladsome hour. Oh ! why cannot we sing in 
spirit thus early upon our waking, and as joyously, and as nat- 
urally ? Why do not the blessings of a peaceful night so fill 
our souls that they must break forth with the opening day, — 
' I laid me down and slept, and awaked, for thou, Lord, makest 
me to dwell in safety ! ' 

" These morning choristers have not yet broken their fast ; 
they know not where they may find the first seed or worm 
wherewith to break it, and still they sing. It may, withal, be a 



190 MEMORIAL. 

cheerless, drizzling morning, such a one as many a good man 
only submits to, and that, perhaps, with a murmur ; but the 
piety of redbreast, neither dampened nor chilled by the un- 
pleasant weather, gushes out in the same free style ; nor would 
his melody alone give you any reason to think it was not one 
of the pleasantest mornings of summer. Thus, neither un- 
pleasant surroundings, nor fears for the future, are by the 
robins made an occasion for the neglect of duty or for loss of 
joy. The first awaking hour is sacred to cheerful praise. The 
first business of the day is to adjust their relations with the 
Creator, and this is done not of constraint, but of a ready 
mind. 

" I have also been pleased to observe how late in evening 
the robin sings. His vespers never are forgotten, and they 
are among the last sounds heard from the living world. They 
die upon the ear while the latest twilight is fading from the 
eye. And so, his last conscious act each day is a song. Is it 
paid intelligently to Him who has given the pleasant day ? 
Who can answer, Nay ? Who wishes to answer, Nay ? 

"Oh, what a joyous life is that, — each day opening, and 
closing with a song, with occasional intercalations of joy as 
opportunity offers. How well-balanced the spirit which is ever 
ready to do this, and does it so naturally. Can you conceive 
how a robin's life could better please its Creator ? What more 
complete statement of Christian daily duty than this of the 
sweet robin's life, namely, praise, labor, praise. Whether look- 
ing backward upon labor done, or forward to labor yet to be 
done, always seeing occasions for praise, and always ready to 
sing of them. This is life indeed ! 

" Our little sparrow, with her unpretending song, and her 
dress of neutral colors, which hops close about our door, and 
sometimes upon the threshold for crumbs, and builds her nest 
of small strings and hairs in the lilac beside our door, excels 
the robin in one particular. During the night she occasion- 
ally wakes from sleep and sings. She calls to remembrance 
her song in the night. Whatever be the cause of her waking, 



WANING HOPES. 191 

it matters not to her ; she turns it into an occasion for song. 
True indeed, that song is brief, — only a few sweet chirps, but 
it is long enough to show that the little heart is right, — always 
confiding and always full. While sleepless and impatiently 
watching for the morning, I have frequently caught this unex- 
pected ripple of praise. I have even heard it in the midst of 
a gentle rain. One tiny creature, then, remembers God dur- 
ing the night-watches. David said hardly more distinctly, 
' When I awake, I am still with thee,' and Paul and Silas in 
their midnight prison hardly did more than this. 

" I am not ashamed to confess that I have felt rebuked by 
these things. Weariness, restlessness, pain, heavy care, and a 
great abiding sorrow, often break my sleep and make my pil- 
low seem thorns, when I sigh out in words three thousand 
years old, ' Wearisome nights are appointed unto me ' ; or in 
similar words of a somewhat later day, ' Hath God forgotten 
to be gracious ; hath He in anger shut up His tender mer- 
cies ? ' and I think I do well to be impatient and distrustful, 
and feel half justified in withholding my praises until God 
gives me a happier state. Oh how far behind and beneath 
the sparrow in point of trust, and peace, and duty ! For is not 
God quite as near to me also, and as kind ? Is He not as near 
and as kind to every one in sickness, in sorrow, or in any 
trouble ? Is He not so also to you, sad and sorrowing one ? 
for you are of more value than many sparrows. 

" Ah, how strange and humiliating, that, as we descend in 
the scale of being, we rise in the scale of fidelity to God ; and 
that man, made but little lower than the angels, is taught lofty 
lessons of wisdom and piety by the birds ! But this being our 
sad state, let us be thankful that God recovers us by such 
sweet, gentle, and faultless instructors as the robins and spar- 
rows. 

" Cecil." 



192 MEMORIAL. 

The other article, published in the " Boston Record- 
er " of July 10th, is entitled — 

"MY FATHER'S ORANGE. 

" The poor, worn invalid lies sleepless and restless, while all 
the family around are drinking in the blessings of 'tired 
Nature's sweet restorer.' His lips are fevered, his tongue 
cleaves to the roof of his mouth. He cannot help contrasting 
his pitiful condition with that of others, though he knows this 
to be wrong, and every such comparison gives him pain. His 
troubled soul again asks if God has forgotten to be gracious, 
and if His mercy to himself is clean gone forever. In short, 
he is sick, sad, and tired of himself; and his faltering faith is 
in sore need of something to stimulate it to lay hold on some 
of the many precious thoughts of God. ' Oh, if He would only 
speak and assure His child of a Father's love.' In this 
depressed state he reaches out his thin, translucent hand, and 
takes from the little table at his bedside an orange, which the 
loving care of some kind friend had left the evening before. 
So soft and juicy, so cool, so refreshing and harmless withal, 
so perfectly suited to his present taste and weakness, — as if 
the Infinite Love had devised it for the sick alone, — he 
presses its rich contents upon his burning palate, and is 
strengthened. His thirst is quenched, his fever cooled, and 
now his restored brain works more reasonably and piously. 

" ' That orange,' says he, ' could not have met my want any 
better, if it had been created for me alone. So far as I am 
concerned, the Divine love has exhausted itself for my com- 
fort. I am not then quite forgotten of Him. 

" ' And what pains He has taken to bring that blessing to 
my hand at this critical hour. It grew in Cuba, or Sicily, or 
Fayal, thousands of miles hence amid the seas. But His 
hand plucked and wrapped it, held it secure in its hollow amid 
the yawning waves, brought it safe to port, expressed it thence 
far into the country, moved the friend to purchase and leave it 
here, and thus did my watchful and loving Father's hand place 



WAKING HOPES. 193 

it within mine. No miracle of mercy was ever more timely 
and direct than this mercy to me. Had God spoken it into 
being at my bedside, and in answer to my midnight cry, the 
miracle would not have brought Him nearer to me. Ah, now 
I know there is one invalid whom the Omnipotent hath not 
yet forgotten ; one feeble and tired child, at least, who in the 
night-watchings has occasion to sing of the loving-kindness of 
the Lord, — a very present help in time of trouble. 

" Cecil." 

Mr. Hosford rallied sufficiently to be able to return 
to Haverhill towards the end of July. His joy in a 
little return of strength, and his strong desire to get 
back to his dear old home, had much to do with his 
effort. He felt, however, that this " patching up " was 
only temporary, and that when cold weather returned 
he should probably sink. 

After reaching Haverhill, he wrote, July 30th : — 

" The ' old parsonage ' is dear to us ; it never seemed more 
pleasant ; never fuller of sweet associations with both the living 
and the dead. But these joys are all saddened by the thought 
that this is our last season in it, and that we must soon go 
forth, Abram-like, not knowing whither." 

Mr. Hosford had long been gradually coming to the 
decision that it was his duty to seek a release from the 
pastoral office, inasmuch as, though he did not and 
could not perform the duties of the office, he could not 
shake off the cares and the sense of responsibility 
belonging to it, to an extent that left him in the most 
favorable circumstances for improvement in health. 
Hence he foresaw the necessity of leaving the parson- 
age, and seeking another home, a step which cost him 

25 



194* MEMORIAL. 

the severest struggle, and almost a daily pang for 
many weeks. 

In August he went to the Isles of Shoals, where he 
remained eight weeks. During this time he gained 
ten pounds in weight, and was somewhat encouraged. 
From his numerous letters while there, the following 
are extracts : — 

" Isles of Shoals, August 10th. 
" Came in part as the easiest way to get rid of the incessant 
cry, ' Shoals,' ' Shoals, for such cases,' — from the high au- 
thority of Dr. B down to the young women who said they 

had spent a day here and felt better I am not here 

to fish but to breathe, and so I sacrifice my preference, and 
give my fullest lungs to the work set before them." 

To his wife : — ■ 

" Dearest and Best, — This has been a very lonely Sab- 
bath to me. No public service, no good books, no serious- 
minded friend, nothing save cell-thoughts here, and dreadful 
longings for you whenever I went upon the rocks where we 
spent so much of last Sabbath so very pleasantly. Such days 
draw the life out of me. They must be prevented somehow. 
I wonder that I have not learned to bear them better. When 
I could read at all, I went for the twentieth time to see good 
Christian and his still better wife safely over the dark river. 
I counted them happy ; and among the hosts of shining ones 
on the further shore, I could see some — one at least — who 
looked toward me with a love that drew me strongly and 
mysteriously. There is but one love on earth that can coun- 
tervail it. Between the two, drawing me in opposite direc- 
tions, I stand powerless and motionless, waiting the touch of 
the Divine finger which will send me from the presence of this 
into the presence of that. Were you both on one side of me, 
Omnipotence alone could hold me in place. I hope this has 



•WANING HOPES. 195 

been a more comforting Sabbath to you. The house has 
many other pleasant associations besides those connected with 
me, and the children are a perpetual relief and diversion when 
present, so that you do not have to feed upon your own vitals 
as I do when away. I am glad of this, for it is more impor- 
tant that you be kept from breaking down, than that I should 
be merely comforted in my broken estate. So go on as the 
Lord shall give you strength. 

" I continue much as when you saw me last. No symptom 
for the worse that I know of. I sometimes cough a little when 
in bed ; but the coughs are only the offspring of sighs." 

" August 26. This is, on the whole, a queer place, but well 
worth the trouble of seeing once. 'Water, water, every- 
where,' and jagged granite rocks in all the rest of the places." 

In his exile from home and from " the Continent," 
Mr. Hosford dated the following, — 

" Patmos, Sabbath eve, September 6th. 
"This has been Communion Sabbath with my friends at 
home. Shut off from the sanctuary service, and from all 
society of Christians, my thoughts have been much with that 
church where, for nearly twenty years, I have been permitted 
to keep this sacred ordinance with well-beloved friends in 
Christ. My hand would gladly have taken that bread, and my 
lips that cup, in fellowship with them to-day ; but in place of 
such personal presence, memory, imagination, and faith came 
to my aid, and so my spirit was brought nigh to Calvary, and 
to Him who there completed the great work of man's redemp- 
tion. I heard no human voice, yet the Spirit seemed to 
breathe into my soul, — ' Wounded for your transgressions — 
bruised for your iniquities — by my stripes you were healed. 
Receive thou this sacrament with mingled penitence, faith, and 
love. Do this in remembrance of Me.' And as I mused, the 
fire burned ; so that, never, perhaps, was a communion-hour 
more impressive, more humbling, and more comforting to me. 



196 MEMORIAL. 

" There are times when the soul alone comes nearer to the 
august, invisible realities than when in the company of fellow- 
believers. There are times when its own reflections are 
deeper and truer for itself than the words of others, even of 
the wisest and best can be. Truth is, all the genuine exer- 
cises of personal piety, especially the fundamental ones of 
repentance and faith, must be wrought out without the aid of 
others. As friends may accompany us to the brink of the 
dark river, but beyond that cannot go another step to guide 
and cheer, so may they assist us up to a certain point in our 
religious experience, but over the threshold of our heart of' 
hearts not one of them can pass. Into the holy of holies of 
the soul, its Creator God only can come. So it is while apart 
from all others, that the choicest secrets of the Son Divine are 
whispered to the attentive, loving heart. Why, then, need 
occasional solitude, or the absence of all external means of 
grace, be the subject of tearful regret ? What a melancholy 
mistake, to make that an occasion of unusual sadness, which 
may be made the occasion of unwonted joy." 

Again : — 

" We have had no religious service to-day ; so I have had no 
let nor hindrance to meditation, all of which has been serious, 
— some sacred, — some tearful, — on the whole, such as might 
be expected of humanity overburdened yet trying to rise." 

Again : — 

"Tour letter . . . calmed and comforted me. I sang to 
myself ' My Heart and I.' I continued the song through the 
evening, and then with more than usual peace and hope 
dropped into sleep." 

" September 10th, before breakfast. Just in from watching 

the big breakers Fearful wind all day yesterday. 

No mail homeward, no news from America, no arrivals or 
departures, no any thing save wind and homesickness. Every 



WANING HOPES. 197 

sail scud into harbor at Portsmouth, and the broad sea as well 
as our Sea House looked melancholy indeed." 

To a friend in Boston : — 

" How this sea-faring life is to affect my weakened parts, I 
cannot yet say ; only I can testify to a gradual accumulation 
here and there among my bones, of that substance which influ- 
ences the scales, and which gives you such a superiority to me, 
in that small matter of ' personal presence.' " 

The following, dated September 14th, to a lady in 
Haverhill, explains itself: — 

" My heart melted for you when I saw your husband's death 
announced in the newspapers ; and I need not say how sad I 
felt that I could not have been there to comfort him and you 
all in the last tearful hours of his life ; and then, in the Re- 
deemer's name, and in the faith of the better life, commit his 
worn mortality to its long and peaceful sleep. But this was 
not to be, and so we bow to it. We give him up in sweet, 
strong hope that he goes before to the better land, and that his 
going before will help you who remain to prepare to follow, 
and will make your own surrender of life all the easier when 
the appointed hour comes. Dwell much upon that precious 
name, — ' the Widow's God,' i. e., more tenderly and nearly 
your God than hitherto, though you may not at present see it 
by reason of tears blinding the vision. But you will see it 
some time, and bless Him for the manifestation. 

" Yesterday I read the second part of the ' Pilgrim's Prog- 
ress,' — the journey of Christiana and her children heaven- 
ward, through all the ruggednesses of the way, and finally, over 
the dark river. I read and thought of you. Read you the 
same, and be comforted, yea, strengthened. In the great spirit- 
ual blessings with which God has visited your household, you 
have great reason for thanksgiving. Let not present grief 
turn your thoughts wholly away from these doings of the same 
wise and loving Father. 



198 MEMORIAL. 

"Please make over my benediction to your daughters in 
this early and sore trial of their Christian confidence, and tell 
the little brother that I hope he will soon flee to his Redeem- 
er's arms, so that Christian friends, looking upon you, shall 
say with joy, ''All in the Ark / ' 

" You may not often see my face or hear direct from me, 
but you may rest assured that you will often be in my thoughts 
and in my heart as a subject of prayer. And thousands of 
fellow-believers who know the bitterness of a family affliction, 
will also be praying daily that mourners may be comforted. 
Will not such prayers, from bleeding hearts, bring down some 
divine healing into your own ? It must be so, as God hears 
and answers prayer. 

" That you and your sweet little flock may now come under 
the more tender and immediate care of the great and good 
Shepherd, is the prayer and the expectation of your true friend 
and companion in tribulation." 

To his wife : — 

"I am not so very sad, only I do love you all rather too 
much for a weak man to bear with exuberant cheerfulness. I 
affirm that I behave real well considering what I am deprived 
of, — which is nothing less than almost all of that which has been 
my life and joy for a score of happy years. But oh, that ever- 
looming future, so dark and uncertain to me ; so clear and sure 
to the sovereign Disposer ! In His hands it must lie, and 
there, (may my heart have grace to say,) there let it lie. I 
have been meditating my letter [of resignation] to the church 
to-day, and you can easily imagine it has made me rather so- 
ber. Oh, is it not a pretty serious business ? " 

To friends in Vermont, September 18th: — 

" I have this week written and sent my resignation, — a bit- 
ter, bitter duty. Like the death of a friend, it exceeded and 
crossed all anticipations. It was an affliction to my soul, for I 
had come to love my place and my work. Besides, it sets me 



WANING HOPES. 199 

afloat without the slightest intimation, as yet, as to where I 
shall go, or what do, or whether there be much of a future for 
me any way. Were I separated in responsibility and affec- 
tion from my household, I should not care overmuch about this 
earthly future. But I have neither the piety nor the fortitude 
to look at the future as it will affect them, with me gone, or 
helpless, or possibly a burden. 

" I am sorry to write in this strain, but I could not write 
truly and say otherwise. When the cloud lifts I will reflect 
the light I receive. None will be so glad as I to do it. . . . 

"I think I can see how one whose interests in the great 
future are insured, should not care to come back when past 
the summit of the difficult journey between. To make up one's 
mind to go, bowing to the Divine will, this is the substance 
of dying ; and is it not enough to go through this experience 
once ? My sickness last spring at Orford dissolved my hold 
on life more than aught I ever experienced before." 

He wrote again, September £5th : — 

" Life here is becoming insufferably monotonous. I want 
to begin to work ; if this is forbidden, then go inland where I 
can ramble and hunt, i. e. exercise sufficiently and at the same 
time have a diversion. 

" All things considered, the freedom of the woods is better 
for me than close confinement in this delicious air. . . . The 
truth is, there are so few here that nothing brave or novel 
is attempted. No fishing, no singing or playing, no chatting 
and laughing in friendly cliques, — nothing but eat, eat, eating, 
diversified by sleep, sleep, sleeping." 

After returning to Haverhill from his " Patmos," 
Mr. Hosford wrote, October 12th, to one of his Ver- 
mont friends, who was recovering from illness : — 

" If your sickness dissolves your hold on life as mine of last 
spring did, you will find work in future to be a very serious 
and a very heavy business. The lengthening shadows of life's 



200 MEMORIAL. 

afternoon and evening will no longer trouble you. But this is 
not to be deplored. It may be only proof of higher wisdom 
and grace. It is, at least, a great change from our former 
young and ambitious worldly selves ; and I have no hesitation 
in adding, a change for the better." 

During the month of October Mr. Hosford spent a 
few days among his friends in Orford, N. EL, from 
which place he wrote. October 20th, the following let- 
ter of tender condolence to an afflicted family in his 
parish : — 

" Dear Friends, — Of no family except my own have I 
thought more frequently or tenderly during my absence than 
of yours. I think of you and pray for you as an afflicted fam- 
ily;- for such indeed you are, and as such will share, I trust, 
in the results of a sanctified affliction. I am apt also to think 
of you as a sad family ; but in this I am wrong ; for why should 
any family be sad into which the Master has come to do some 
great and unusual work ? Was the little household at Bethany 
sad when it was said to one of their number, ' The Master com- 
eth and calleth for thee ?' What did she do ? ' Then she rose 
quickly, and went unto Him.' Even on the supposition that 
He cometh for the purpose of taking down ' the earthly house 
of this tabernacle,' what then ? Why, ' the building of God, 
the house not made with hands,' &c. Let us think more of that 
result, and less of this process ; more of the end which Christ's 
love is seeking, and less of the means He chooses to employ. 
Still, had He chosen a milder discipline for you I should have 
been glad ; for we not only love life ourselves, but we love to 
see others enjoy it. But after all, if we can only rise above 
the human in our views and feelings, and look at this matter in 
the simple and clear light of the Gospel, — look at it with the 
Christian part of ourselves, how plain it will appear that this 
present life is night, and the future life day ; this present to be 
used cheerfully and thankfully while it lasts ; the future to be 
longed for, and welcomed as soon as the Master permits. . . . 



WANING HOPES. 201 

" How often does the Saviour lift a poor unworthy soul that 
trusts in Him to a level of joy and peace in dying, above what 
He seems Himself to have experienced ! It is almost too much 
to believe that He will treat you and me with a holier and ten- 
derer regard than He treated Himself! But it is even so, and 
this is our exceeding joy. He has always disappointed believers 
on the side of mercy. You and I will find it so in our own 
case, unless our faith fails, and perhaps I may add, that He will 
see to it that our faith fail not." 

Of this last visit of Mr. Hosford to the home of his 
childhood, his sister writes : — 

" It was chilly November, his visit drawing to a close. The 
last Sabbath came round, when he sat side by side with his 
elder brother in the sacred desk. Here he stood, buttoned 
up and upright, as one in health, morning and afternoon. 
Lastly he spoke from these words : * It is appointed unto man 
once to die.' These solemn thoughts were carried out in sing- 
ing the sublime anthem of Dr. Callcott, ' Enter not into judg- 
ment,' &c. In the evening the services of the day were re- 
called, and with calm consent that all had been well done. 
This closed up his last Sabbath in Vermont." 



26 



CHAPTER XV. 

DISMISSION. 

" I need not be missed, if another succeed me, 
To reap down those fields which in spring I have sown; 
He who plowed and who sowed is not missed by the reaper, 
He is only remembered by what he has done ! 

" Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken, 
Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown, 
Shall pass on to ages; all about me forgotten, 
Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done." 

Anon. 

Allusion has been made in the last chapter to the 
" bitter, bitter duty," as Mr. Hosford called it, of his 
resignation of the pastoral office. The following is 
his letter : — 

"To the Centre Congregational Church and Society in Haver- 
hill : 

" Brethren and Friends, — A year's entire rest from pul- 
pit labors and pastoral cares has not restored to me, as I hoped 
it would, the health necessary to resume those sacred burdens ; 
and no alternative is left me but to resign, as I now do, the 
charge I have kept for eighteen years, in order that it may be 
given to one of full strength and grace. I therefore desire the 
Church to unite with me in calling an Ecclesiastical Council 
as soon as convenient, to consider and act upon this resig- 
nation. 

" My pastoral connection with this people has been so uni- 









DISMISSION. 203 

formly pleasant, and has so many cheering evidences that it 
was approved by the Great Head of the Church, that I have 
been very slow, perhaps too slow, to admit the painful neces- 
sity of separation. But that necessity is now past question ; 
and I bow to it submissively, though with a heavy heart. It 
is to me a great affliction, — the second great affliction of my 
life. Had it not been so, I should not have struggled so long 
and so hard to avoid it, — keeping you in painful suspense the 
mean while, and, for a part of the time, without the benefit of 
a resident ministry. To me, as a Christian pastor, you are my 
first and only love. My labors for you, continued under bodily 
weakness and heart-sorrows, must witness the sincerity of my 
regard for you, as also your patience and kindness, under these 
short-comings of mine, testify to your considerate and friendly 
regard for me. We part, with little to regret in our intercourse 
with each other. And as to the future, I am sure your prayers 
will still follow me as long as I remain a subject of prayer, 
while mine will still be upon you, that you may continue unto 
the end, as you have been until now, a spiritual and saving 
power in this community, and a flock of God in whom the 
Good Shepherd will ever take delight. And now may the 
peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keep your 
hearts and minds through Jesus Christ. 

"B. F. HOSFORD." 

In accordance with the request in the foregoing 
letter, a Council was called, which convened October 
26, 1863, and with painful reluctance and many tear- 
ful regrets, after much deliberation, voted to dissolve 
the relation so long and so happily continued, and so 
full of tender associations for the beloved pastor, for 
his flock, and for his brethren in the ministry. They 
did this because the circumstances seemed to render it 
necessary, and Mr. Hosford felt that it would be better 



204 MEMORIAL. 

for him to be entirely free from the cares and anxieties 
incident to the office of pastor. Aside from his own 
" preference, on the whole," the Council would have 
greatly preferred that the faithful and beloved pastor 
of eighteen years' standing should die, if die he must, 
in the midst of those who could still call him "pastor" 
and whom he, with his dying breath, could still call his 
"people" 

That the sundering of the tie which had so long and 
tenderly bound him to his people was a very sore trial 
to him, is abundantly evident from his letters and pri- 
vate papers written at the time and subsequently. He 
could scarcely speak of it without weeping. His sen- 
sitive nature seemed, for a time, to be bleeding at every 
pore. It overwhelmed him to think that his labors, as 
a minister of Christ, were done. Among the thoughts 
which, here and there, he jotted down, like his " Cloud- 
land " thoughts after his "first great affliction," were 
found, after his death, three scraps of poetry which he 
had selected and carefully pinned together for use, upon 
the subject which, at the time, so deeply absorbed his 
mind. One of these appears at the head of this chap- 
ter. The other two, the first by Whittier, the second 
anonymous, will appropriately close the chapter. 

'It may not be our lot to wield 
The sickle in the ripened field; 
Nor ours to hear, on summer eves, 
The reaper's song among the sheaves: 

Yet, where our duty's task is wrought 

In unison with God's great thought, 

The near and future blends in one, 

And whatsoe'er is willed, is done." 



DISMISSION. 205 

We scatter seeds with careless hand, 
And dream we ne'er shall see them more : 
But for a thousand years 

Their fruit appears 
In weeds that mar the land, 
Or healthful store. 
The deeds we do, the words we say, 
Into still air they seem to fleet : 
We count them ever past ; 

But they shall last; 
In the dread judgment they 
And we shall meet ! " 



CHAPTER XVI. 

" BREAKING UP." 

" Oh for the faithful mind, the steadfast eye, 
To keep our Leader's glory full in sight, 
And make our converse, even while we die, 
An interchange of triumph and delight. 



Count all the pains that speed thee to thy rest, 
Among the riches of thy purchased right ; 

Yea, bind them in His name upon thy breast, 
As jewels for the Bride, the Lamb's delight. 

And love shall teach us while on Him we lean, 

That, in the certainty of coming bliss, 
We may be yearning for a world unseen, 

Yet wear our beautiful array in this." 

A. L. Waking. 

After Mr. Hosford's release from the cares and 
responsibilities of the pastoral office, there were some 
favorable indications in his case. Many of his friends 
tried to persuade themselves and him that he was 
really better, and might yet live and labor in some 
other sphere of usefulness for years. With much mis- 
giving, he also tried to believe that their judgment was 
correct, and that his own mind might have been unduly 
influenced by depression. But the favorable indica- 



"BREAKING UP." 20J 

tions were soon seen by all to be only the momentary 
gleams of the expiring lamp. Amid his tossings to 
and fro between hope and hopelessness, he summoned 
the courage to enter upon the irksome business of seek- 
ing an appointment as Chaplain at St. Augustine. 
Dr. Bowditch, of Boston, who was familiar with his 
case, felt from the first that his strength was not equal 
to such a position, and, as the sequel proved, he for- 
tunately failed in the project, in consequence of the 
abandonment of that station. 

He next wrote to Newbern, N. C, in order to ascer- 
tain what facilities for comfort or usefulness that place 
afforded for " a semi-invalid," as he called himself. 
But the way there also was hedged up, the friend to 
whom he wrote not promising enough on the score of 
health to offer any inducement to go. 

In this perplexity, he wrote, October 17, 1863: — 

" Our minds are constantly exercised as to whether we shall 
move this autumn, — when move and whither. Oh what a 
relief it would be to us if that Providence which looks all 
through the future, would only speak clearly to us as to what 
had best be done. We must soon decide somehow, and take 

the consequences Come and take your last taste of 

pears from my garden while it remains mine. Ah me ! how 
kindly I feel to it ; and ever since my return from Orford, I 
have worked day upon day in it, just as earnestly and almost 
as cheerfully as if I knew I should gather the fruit of my 
labors. But some good man will if I do not, and this is the 
great law, ' One soweth and another reapeth,' which works in 

my favor quite as often, perhaps, as against me We 

are living very scripturally, i. e., living by faith in ravens, and 
yet not quite certain but they may some day forget to go to 



208 MEMORIAL. 

market, as ordered, and so we miss a dinner But thus 

far we have tangible proof that our Heavenly Father does care 
for sparrows." 

Meanwhile, his strength was evidently declining, 
and none could fail to see it. Wearied and worn, 
after an almost supernatural attempt to make himself 
useful, he wrote the following : — 

" Sabbath evening, November 22d, 1863. Thank God for 
evening rest. Wearied with labors to-day, in order that others 
might enter into rest, my exhausted nature now drinks in 
repose, oh how deliciously. I seem to absorb it at every pore. 
Blessed be night, and thrice blessed a Sabbath night. 

" A day of tender sadness this, loaded down with the melan- 
choly events of a week. What a yawning chasm in Mr. 

H 's pew, though filled before by 'only a little girl of 

seven.' How hollow my own heart felt as I looked down 
upon it ! 

" Mr. B 's household stricken by news from their only 

son sinking fast by fever, in a hospital six hundred miles away. 
Alas, his warfare doubtless ended ere this Sabbath dawned. 

"Mr. P , with an infant for baptism, whose lovely 

mother bore it, looked upon it, sighed Benoni, and then fell 
asleep. 

" A score of others whose older wounds were opened afresh 
by the sight of these. And then the tender thoughtfulness 
pervading the young, by reason of these speaking providences, 
— a very critical state of mind, ripening into life or death 
eternal ! All of these affecting cases I have tried to meet in 
prayer and discourse with fit words and feelings. But who is 
sufficient for these things ? Who can enter into these griefs 
as a pastor should, and still bear up under them as he must ? 
My own soul has gone out of me into them. My spirit has 
been almost broken in their behalf. I feel personally afflicted 
to-night, and in need of being myself bound up. But the love 



"BREAKING UP." 209 

of Christ has consoled me somewhat, while I was trying with 
that love to console them. The compassionate Redeemer has 
not left me utterly alone. Precious the healing which He im- 
parts, but dreadful the bitterness of heart which needs such 
healing. O Saviour, let me freely receive of it, that I in turn 
may freely give, or we all perish together. 

" This poor heart is bowed down and broken, yet not utterly 
forsaken of its Maker. Humanity, a sad state at best, but 
redemption leaves it not in hopeless despair. Thank God con- 
tinually for His gentleness and grace, but oh, the weakness and 
sorrows of mortal life notwithstanding that great clemency ! " 

Among the last sermons which Mr. Hosford had 
wearily written and preached, was one upon Christian 
Submission. He closed it by reciting what he called 
" these sweet, strong words of the Evangelical Ger- 
man, Julius Sturm, — words in which faith gains the 
victory, but only through hard struggles." This won- 
derful piece, entitled " God's Anvil,'' or " As God 
wills," and commencing, 

"Pain's furnace heat within me quivers," &c, 

was a most appropriate and striking conclusion of such 
a sermon at such a time. Every one, who knew the 
pale and sick preacher, could see that the spirit of 
" these sweet, strong words " had become, more fully 
than ever before, a part of his own Christian experi- 
ence. Occasionally there came a few days when he 
seemed better, and he would say cheerfully, " I feel 
well to-day ; I'll try and not feel too much disappointed 
if I should get well." But in these seasons of fitful 
strengthening, he seemed ever to hear the solemn 
whisper, " Set thine house in order," and, with a seri- 

27 



210 MEMORIAL. 

ous but calm dignity, he girded himself to the work. 
Many sad and weary hours were spent in sifting his 
library, arranging papers, looking over and burning 
sermons. What a review ! " Whether looking back- 
ward or forward," said he, " I find little ground of 
comfort except as I can commit it all to the Infinite 
Friend, which I try to do cheerfully and entirely, 
though the flesh is weak." But there was no faltering 
in the irksome task until he, for the last time turned 
the key of his desk, — where " in study, meditation, 
and prayer, God has met me," he said, — when his 
overtasked sensibilities gave way. " I cannot bear 
many experiences like this, but it is better to do it now 
than to leave it for you when I am gone," was his 
tearful and tender outburst. 

A few days later he writes to his brother : — 

" I have been burning sermons, — sermons that cost me my 
life, and have they saved any ? " 

A walk to the house of a sick friend, in February, 
led him through the cemetery. Lovingly, almost long- 
ingly, he lingered at Mattie's grave. 

" Sweet, sweet spot ! Sweet, sweet child ! I shall not walk 
here many times more, but I shall love at last to lie down by 
her side." 

This was his last benediction upon that little sleeper 

over whose narrow bed his strong heart had so often 

broken. Before reaching home his tottering steps told 

plainly how slight was his own hold of life. 

" These poor legs have served me faithfully a long time, but 
it is evident they cannot carry their burden much longer." 



"BREAKING UP." 211 

To his friends in the old Vermont home, he wrote, 
February 4, 1864 : — 

"Being, as I am now, essentially helpless, I cannot but 
regard it as a very kind Providence to us that a few, both in 
the parish and out of it, are so willing and so able to help us 
along, day by day. As to health, I suppose I must admit a 
gradual losing ground, and yet it comes on so slowly and so 
stealthily, that I am hardly aware of it. I feel and appear not 
very unlike my former self, but am very much weaker, as I 
find soon on trying to walk off as I did one year ago, or even 
last fall. I am daily trying every promising method of resist- 
ance, but with not overmuch hope, especially as the debilitat- 
ing months of spring are at our doors." 

A few days later, he wrote to the same friends : — 

" My chief occupation now is, — struggle with disease, if, 
by any means, I may keep it in check or where it is. But my 
courage is often very faint. Not unfrequently it seems hardly 
worth the while ! " 

A few days later still he wrote : — 

" I continue to creep and prose around, doing nothing daily, 
except to wear through it with as little friction as possible, — 
a dreadfully hard sort of life for me ! " 

With sensibilities intensified by suffering, his enjoy- 
ment of music became more exquisite. 

"Music," [he said,] "pure sound, without words, without 
opera-dress or distraction, fills me, overpowers me. 

" I shall strain every weak nerve to hear Gottschalk next 
Monday," [he cheerily writes to a friend]. " By the way, why 
did not you catch my eye as you looked across Music Hall last 
Wednesday ? I looked as attractive as I possibly could. . . . 
Indeed, with the scant material I had to work with, I hardly 
see how any man could do better. Your shadowy friend, 

" H." 



212 MEMORIAL. 

Among- the purest enjoyments of his last winter 
were the concerts of the Mendelssohn Society, at Mu- 
sic Hall, in Boston. For some time Mr. Hosford went 
weekly to the city to attend these, and, in turn, took 
each member of his family. His delight in this style 
of music always expressed itself in tears, and, in its 
intensity, seemed akin to pain. "Oh, let me go while 
I can, for the time that I cannot go is hasting fast," 
was his ready answer to objections made on the ground 
of exposure. This hour, nearer even than he thought, 
he' met without one complaint, as he gave to another 
his unused tickets. 

As one by one life's joys were slipping from his 
weakened grasp, there was at times an effort to detain 
them, painful to see. Thus, after unusual satisfaction 
in the services of the sanctuary on nearly the last Sab- 
bath of his attendance at church, he remarked : — "I 
thought I had given up all thought and all desire for 
ministerial life, but to-day I have felt an irrepressible 
desire to get well and preach again. I would make 
so much of the facts of the Gospel." 

In March Mr. Hosford went to Boston, to bid fare- 
well to friends about to sail for Europe, whose plans 
for traveling had included both Mr. and Mrs. Hos- 
ford, in the hope that a change of climate and scene, 
under such circumstances, might retard the progress of 
his disease. Increasing weakness compelled the inva- 
lid to decline their invitation, and to see his friends sail 
without him. Before their return the wearied one had 
crossed the dark river. How soon he must start on 



"BKEAKING UP." 213 

this passage he doubtless thought as he watched the 
retreating forms of his friends. But whatever was 
the inward tumult of this parting, and the final giving 
up of his life-long desire to go abroad, there was no 
visible sign, save a " clasping of the hands and look- 
ing up." 

" Others waved their kerchiefs joyfully for you as you swung 
off from the wharf," [he wrote to these friends,] " but as for me, 
I felt much more like clasping my hands and looking up. . . . 

" I think longingly of you every hour, and still am more con- 
tent not to be with you than I had supposed possible after hav- 
ing had the offer of accompanying you. It seemed so clearly 
inexpedient for me to go, that I have had less difficulty in sub- 
mitting than I should have had had the question been at all 
doubtful." . . . 

To the friends in whose dwelling he found a delight- 
ful home when in Boston, he subsequently wrote: — 

" My cough since my return has rather a bad way of atten- 
tioning me. I evidently took cold the day before I came. 

" My memory is laden with pleasant records of my late visit, 
and it cheers me on my way to believe and know that, if I live, 
I have not yet seen the last of such things. There are some 
friends beside the Chief Friend, who we know will love unto 
the end." 

In reference to one of the noble proofs of such en- 
during friendship, he wrote to his Vermont friends : — 

" A strange and trying six months have been these past, but 
resulting now in a kindness almost as strange. . . . We are just 
on the verge of moving, (forty rods or so,) and this is an exer- 
cise involving more thought and care and labor than you, who 
have never moved, can conceive of. . . . We shall change quar- 
ters probably about the third or fourth week in April. A nice, 



214 MEMORIAL. 

clean, snug, four-year old house, with a small and precise gar- 
den, facing south and overlooking all this part of the world. 
Said house is purchased ($4000) by our friends Hale and 
Nichols, here, and Tyler and Warren, of Boston, and given us 
to use free as long as myself or Mary live or care to occupy. 
" But for this great and unexpected kindness to us, our im- 
mediate future would be dark indeed. These friends seem 
determined that I shall have every facility for recovery which 
one man can afford another." 

To others, to whom he announced the thoughtful 
kindness of these friends, he wrote, in reference to a 
season of religious interest, and a wish that had been 
expressed that he might share in the necessary labor: — 

" How sacredly should I work if I could see that God would 
use me for any good in a revival ! But I will work for you 
and with you, though the method and means be only prayer. 
This is the only weapon God gives me strength to wield to-day. 
Every thing is best which the Best does." 

In the glow, and under the influence of the grate- 
ful excitement produced by " the lifting " of the over- 
shadowing cloud of uncertainty in regard to his earthly 
home, Mr. Hosford, in March, seemed decidedly better. 

" As to self," [he writes,] " he is very comfortable, having 
strength equal to the day ; i. e., having nothing to do, he has 
strength to do it." 

The last time he went to Boston, which was in the 
first week of April, he walked to the depot, walked a 
good deal in the city, selected carpets for the "new 
house," and attended a concert, and yet, to the surprise 
of all, returned cheerful and not exhausted, — " not as 
tired," he said, " as a month ago I would have been 



"BREAKING UP." 215 

in going down town once." The prospect of a home 
so pleasant and desirable as the one which his friends 
had provided, stimulated him, and he went often to the 
house to suggest little improvements, and pleasantly 
talk over the arrangements of each room. In the 
overflow of his cheerfulness he said : — " Perhaps, 
after all, there is more in store for me than I thought, 
even in this life. There are many things I would like 
to do, even with partial health." 

But how deceitful and short-lived are hopeful ap- 
pearances in such a case ! Only a few days after the 
expression of this half-formed and trembling hope, the 
realization of which he thought to be among the things 
that were possible, he was awakened in the night by a 
fresh attack of bleeding, the blood being in quantity 
more than ever before. And though the bleeding soon 
subsided, and he was neither alarmed nor excited at the 
time or subsequently, it became shortly apparent that 
the attack had left him more feeble than ever, his 
cough being increased in severity, and his recent in- 
crease of strength gone. Thrown back again wholly 
upon the Almighty arm, he could, however, say with 
fresh emphasis : — 

" And the mind communed with me that was his 
Who said, ' When I am weak then am I strong,' 
Until the voice of my infirmities 
Made harmony "with that triumphant song.' 1 '' 

The family, fearing the consequences of delay, hur- 
ried into the new house on the #9th of April. Our 
dear, sick brother was on that day very sick. But 
loving hands prepared his room, which was made at- 
tractive and homelike ; and warm hearts were waiting 



216 MEMORIAL. 

to receive him, when, late in the afternoon, his physi- 
cian and Mrs. Hosford went with him in a close car- 
riage. On entering his room he looked around with 
pleasure and said, " Did ever a man have such a bird's 
nest provided for him % " 

On the next day, looking from his window upon the 
charming landscape before him, he said : — "It is a 
sweet, sweet home, but it cannot be my rest, and I 
know not how soon I may need the assistance of the 
same friendly hands to carry me out of it." 

He still read or heard read, to some extent, the daily 
news ; but, while he retained his interest in passing 
events, and, in fact, remained intensely human to the 
last, it was evident that his affections and thoughts 
were fast becoming allied to the celestial. 

The following, from a very brief note written in 
May, to a friend in Boston, is the last we have from 
his pen : — 

" I am still so weak as to walk but very little about house 
and garden. Usually ride an hour each pleasant day. It is 
harder confinement than I have before suffered from the be- 
nevolent Father, and in which direction the change may come, 
namely, sinking or rallying again, we are waiting to see with 
whatever of trust and composure we can command." 

His great work for time was done. He had now 
only "last things" to do and say, and then wait, with 
that sound of the coming Eternity in his attentive ear 
which is so happily expressed in the familiar stanza : — 

"A solemn mummr in the soul 
Tells of the world to be, 
As travelers hear the billows roll, 
Before they reach the sea." 



CHAPTER XVII. 

LAST DAYS. 

" And so beside the silent sea 
I wait the muffled oar ; 
ISTo harm from Him can come to me 
On ocean or on shore." 

Whittier. 

" This earth has lost its power to drag me downward ; 
Its spell is gone ; 
My course is now right upward and right onward, 
To yonder throne." 

BOXAR. 

After becoming settled in his new and last earthly 
home, Mr. Hosford declined rapidly, and his conviction 
was decided that there now remained little to do but to 
die. He had been in the new dwelling only a week, 
when, one morning, he awoke, drew up the sleeve of 
his night-dress, and, holding out his wasted arm, said 
to his wife : " No man ever rallied with an arm like 
that ! We have had this matter before us a long time, 
but it seems as if one never would be quite ready. I 
have been patching up and breaking down, patching 
up and crowding it a little further into the future ; but 
now there can be no more rallying. . . . This is a final 
summons." 

28 



218 MEMORIAL. 

He then began to give directions concerning many 
practical matters, but soon stopped, exclaiming : " I 
don't know as it is of any use for me to try to plan for 
you. Necessity will help you through, when the time 
comes, better than I can, if not so tenderly." 

Not long after this, he awoke one day in tears. 
" The summons comes a little faster and a little more 
imperative than I supposed," said he, in response to an 
inquiring look. " Every morning when I awake, I 
have to adjust my mind anew to it, in order to feel 
rightly about it, and toward God, who has appointed 
it. This is a thing that has to be done over and 
over. 

For a short time he appeared, in some respects, a 
little more comfortable, and when Mrs. Hosford spoke 
of his rallying again, he looked pitifully into her face, 
lighted with a faint ray of hope, and said : " Please 
don't say any thing about rallying, dear. You may 
think of it, but please don't speak of it ; for, honestly, 
the thought is not pleasant. If I could get well enough 
to do any thing, I might desire it ; but just to crawl 
about the house and garden, and be helped by you all, 
and then sink again, I could not choose it. . It is not 
for me to say how long this conflict shall last, but, if 
it is the Lord's will, I prefer not to take one backward 
step" 

From this time, his strong desire was to finish his 
course just as soon as might be consistent with the will 
of God. And often were his sighs for rest breathed 
out in some such strain as the following : — 



LAST DAYS. £19 

" When shall I be at rest? Hand over hand 

I grasp and climb an ever steeper hill, 
»A rougher path. Oh, that it were Thy will 
My tired feet might tread the Promised Land! " 

Even when he seemed for a few moments to shrink 
from some new experience of suffering, his manner of 
meeting it reminds us of the beautiful chant, in which 
the question of the faltering child is so promptly and 
fully met by the response of the faithful father, whose 
guiding and sustaining hand is safely conducting him 
on : — 

" Is this the way, my Father? " 
" 'T is, my child," &c. 

The simple thought that God's love had appointed 
the suffering, and that a faithful and sympathizing 
Saviour was with him in every furnace of trial, was 
ever sufficient to check even the slightest disposition 
to complain. Once, when he lay panting in one of the 
terrible fever-fits that now alternated with chills, he 
said : " These are deep, deep waters," and, seeing his 
wife at hand, added, " Yes, and none the less so that 
the shore is lined with weeping friends." 

To a friend, who had come from a distance to see 
him, and was admitted into his room at his sickest 
hour in the day, he said : " Oh, this is all right. I am 
held up under it ; but it is harder than you know, or 
any one who has not had the experience of it. I am 
sometimes surprised, that, after all my intercourse with 
the sick and dying, I really knew so little about it." 
The friend remarked : " You must live now by faith, 
— the faith you have preached." " Yes, and die by it, 
too," he replied. 



220 MEMORIAL. 

He was keenly alive to the pleasant surroundings of 
his new house, its quiet and airiness. " Just the place 
to be sick in," he said. " If this sickness must be, I 
see not how, in all respects, I could be more pleasantly 
situated. There is every alleviation the case admits of. 
Did ever a man have such friends ? Yes, God has 
been marvelously kind, marvelously kind, and don't let 
me in any moment of impatience forget it." 

Day after day, with an interest ever fresh, he looked 
from his windows east, south, and west upon the river, 
fields, and distant hills. " What will there be in heaven 
corresponding to my enjoyment of a fine landscape % " 
he once asked. Trees, especially a large silver-leaved 
poplar, whose pointed branchlets he described as " liv- 
ing fingers pointing upward," and whose tremulous 
motion he would imitate with his own thin fingers, 
greatly interested him. " Oh, the incomparable beauty 
and freshness of leaves, more charming than flowers ; 
such variety in form, shade, and motion, and all so 
cooling to look upon, I never tire of them," he said. 

A chorus of birds so beguiled his early waking that 
he "forgot to cough," as he expressed it. " The air is 
perfectly filled with sound. I never heard it equalled 
except at Orford." Once, at mid-day, he called atten- 
tion to the peculiar note of a bird whose habitat he 
knew to be the dense woods of the country, and which 
he had never heard elsewhere. " That poor little fel- 
low has strayed from home ; listen,'.' said he, and then 
he imitated the rise and fall of the three notes of the 
scale which constituted his song. With a warm inter- 



LAST DAYS. 221 

est in the lone wanderer, he watched for a renewal of 
this "plaintive, home-sick song," which, for several 
days, he was sure to hear. Thus did the leaves and 
birds of June cheer many a weary hour. 

During the earlier part of his sickness Mr. Hosford 
was accustomed to entertain his wakefulness at night 
by reading. A book in hand would frequently induce 
sleep. Sometimes, though rarely, he would permit an- 
other to share his wakefulness by reading to him. But, 
as he grew weaker, it was only in the best hours of the 
day that he could listen. He still retained his fond- 
ness for hymns, and especially now, as ever since his 
bereavement, for what he called the " Literature of 
Sorrow," — " those pure, sweet, and pathetic things 
with which our hymn-books abound, and all our relig- 
ious literature is sweetened. These have a tender rela- 
tion to the wants of a bruised soul, and are a part of 
that rich furniture which God has provided for the 
sick-room." 

The reading of the Memorial of Rev. George B. 
Little, in many respects a kindred spirit, suggested 
a conversation in regard to his funeral. It was one 
of leafy June's perfect days. Mr. Hosford had his 
chair drawn to the window, and said, as he looked 
abroad : " These are the days in which Mr. Little was 
taking his last rides and having the resurrection chap- 
ter read to him. Read to me from his Memorial." 
He interrupted the reading of the account given of 
Mr. Little's sickness in Paris, by the remark : " We 
never had any thing equal to that. I am thankful I 



222 MEMOEIAL. 

have not suffered myself to be urged away from home 
for recovery. The cases are very few where it avails 
any thing." 

When the reading was finished he said, " I shall not 
sink as rapidly as we have thought. Don't you see 
how long Mr. Little lived and suffered after he was 
weaker than I now am % " 

He then referred to his funeral. " Have it private, 
private" he said, "all the arrangements simple; as 
little demonstration of word or deed as possible. Bury 
me from my home." 

Subsequently the matter came up again, when he 
made arrangements in detail, adding, " Now all is set- 
tled, and I feel relieved. I have done all I can to help 
you through it. The Lord must do the rest. It will 
be a terrible day to you, any way." 

Though very feeble, he still manifested a tender con- 
cern in all the interests of the household. The chil- 
dren carried to him daily reports of their progress in 
study, the growth of the trees and garden, of which 
they were stewards, and often he would watch them at 
work or play. One of them always remained with 
him while the other members of the family took their 
meals. These were pleasant as well as sacred occa- 
sions to them. They read to him, usually, selections 
from Scripture or hymns, and listened to his words of 
tender counsel. Often, too, there were gleams of the 
old pleasantry which had been the charm of his inter- 
course with his children, and which the youngest called 
" Papa's funniness." 



LAST DAYS. 223 

" It distresses me to see how I absorb the attention 
of the whole house," he once said. " There is nothing- 
else thought of. You must take care of yourselves 
now, for I am too sick to think much about it." 

His extreme delicacy never forsook him in any mo- 
ment of weakness or suffering, and his love of order, 
neatness, and tasteful arrangement remained to his 
very last hour. This rendered him warmly apprecia- 
tive of every thing done for his comfort. 

Of "little Mattie" he still often spoke: "That 
sweet child ! I have great peace in thinking now of 
her. I shall see her now before any of you." 

One day, as one was reading a hymn to him, he 
said : " After all, that is not the thing I want most to 
hear." Observing a look of surprise on the face of 
the reader, he added : " You know I have loved it as 
well as you ; but now its very beauty is almost an ob- 
jection. . . . The soul in the condition of mine does 
not think or pray in that vein. The cry of my soul is, 
*• Give, me bread or I die.' I want something positive 
and direct, and nothing satisfies me but the Saviour's 
own words, or Paul's or Peter's strong statements of 
His truth. The very truths under which my faith 
would almost stagger when I was in health, are the 
ones I need now ; like, ' The Lord shall descend from 
heaven with a shout,' " &c. After a pause, however, he 
added : "Some hymns which have a great theological 
truth for a basis are as precious as ever ; as Cowper's 

' There is a fountain filled with blood,' 

especially as it was first written, 

' And there have I, as vile as he,' &c." 



224* MEMORIAL. 

This was, in several respects, an obvious advance 
upon his previous experience, and, with slight modifi- 
cations, continued to express his feeling's to the last. 
Bunyan he could always hear read. " There is so lit- 
tle extravagance about it," he would say. To a neigh- 
boring minister who, in reference to his apparently 
sinking condition, remarked, that he might, however, 
yet linger on the shores of time for weeks or even 
months, he replied : " No, I am now sinking, never to 
rise. It is the Divine purpose, and I want to put it on 
no other basis." " Well," said his friend, " that pur- 
pose is surely a righteous one." "Yes," said he, "and 
my repose on it, for the most part, is perfect" As the 
brother rose to leave, Mr. Hosford, after violent cough- 
ing which seemed almost to strangle him, said, with 
great difficulty, " Brother, pray for me as a weak, un- 
worthy sinner ; give thanks for me as a sinner redeemed 
and saved by grace ! " 

More than once, as he noticed his wasting flesh, did 
the dear sufferer hold up one hand, and, drawing the 
fingers of the other through the furrows which slow 
consumption had hollowed out, exclaim : " The dis- 
solving of the tabernacle ! . . . Oh, what a gate 
through which to enter heaven ! " 

A few weeks before his departure, as Mrs. H 

was reading to him an account of the last days of 
Fowell Buxton, he said : " Beautiful and tender, is 
it not ] But if all that were in my heart, I could not 
say it as he did. How much occasion I have to regret 
my reticence in regard to my best feelings, especially 






LAST DAYS. 225 

my religious feelings. I have felt enough, but could 
not talk it out, and this lack has undoubtedly been an 
obstacle in the way of my professional success. It has 
grown out of two things ; first, a constitutional deli- 
cacy ; and, second, the fact that I have found so few 
to care for or appreciate my best things. But this 
failure must be put with all the other mistakes of 
my life." 

Hearing that a remark of his, touching some want 
of his soul, had been repeated to a friend, he said, after 
a season of evidently absorbing thought : " I can't tell 
you how I feel at the idea of having my words re- 
peated." "Why 1 ?" he was asked. "Oh," said he, 
" I don't philosophize upon it, but it gives me a shock 
something as if I were overheard in secret prayer." 
Then, after another thoughtful pause, he added : " But 
it may all be wrong. If any thing I can say now 
will honor, in any way, the Master, it is due to Him 
as much as to preach in His name when He gave me 
strength." 

The reading of u Fowell Buxton " was followed by 
the reading of extracts from the " Memoirs of Rev. 
John K. Lord," a classmate of Mr. Hosford, who died 
very suddenly in the midst of his usefulness as a pas- 
tor. The soul's exchange of worlds was the subject 
which chiefly interested him. "I am glad," said he to 

Mrs. H , "you are on this track. Let us keep 

it up. To-morrow get John Humphrey's Memoir, 
(another Andover classmate). It is not worth while 
to feel any anxiety about the last struggle. You see, 

29 



226 MEMOEIAL. 

with whatever diversity, how safely they all get through 
in the One Name." 

A friend, one day, commenced reading to him "John 
Foster's Letter concerning the Future State." After 
listening a few minutes, he said : " Please take some- 
thing else. That speculation wearies me. I shall soon 
know all about it, and can afford to wait." 

Turning to another Letter, in which the doctrine of 
deliverance from condemnation, here and hereafter, is 
set forth as the most conspicuous character of revela- 
tion, proved by such texts as, " The Son of Man came 
to give his life a ransom for many"; "Christ hath re- 
deemed us from the curse of the law"; " His own self 
bare our sins," &c, his friend read on, when, with a 
countenance all aglow, he interrupted the reading by 
the remark : " Oh, how that lifts up a man ! That is 
positive, — something to take hold of. Turn down a 
leaf, and recall those texts to me often." 

To his dearest friends, who were standing by his 
bedside and trying to alleviate his sufferings, he said, 
with difficulty and in detached sentences : " After all, 
as Foster says, how solitary a thing is the fatal proc- 
ess ! Your hearts are breaking to help me, but it is I 
who suffer, I who die ! Into this experience you can- 
not come. None but the divine Son of God, who has 
tasted even this ! You cannot tell what I need, for 
you have not been here, but He has passed through it 
all ! This is solid comfort, — by faith to lay a droop- 
ing head on the bosom of One who has died ! " 

At one time, when he was apparently so near the 



LAST DAYS. 2^7 

end of his conflict that his life was counted by hours, 
he noticed a copy of Bunyan's " Pilgrim's Progress " 
lying upon the table near him, and, pointing to it, said, 
faintly, " Let me see the Pilgrims over the River once 
more." As the book was closed after the reading, 
he softly said : " Despondency and Much Afraid went 
over singing, but none could hear the words they said. 
How beautiful ! One of the sweetest things in the 
book." 

Among the last things that he could hear read, was 
Trench's Sermon on "Christ the Only-Begotten of the 
Father." He was so deeply interested in it that he 
subsequently desired to hear it the second time, and 
remarked, as it was concluded : " How perfectly satis- 
factory ! One of the best uninspired things on that 
subject. For religious reading, I would be willing to 
be shut up to that." 

His conversation turned often upon subjects sug- 
gested by thoughts of the Heavenly Rest, and more 
and more as the fleshly walls, which shut out the spirit- 
ual world from his vision, grew more slight and thin. 
"Angels," he said, "are as real as earth and heaven, 
and are a real and active circulating medium between 
them. They pass up and down as frequently as there 
are prayers and praises to be borne aloft or messages 
of help and mercy to be brought down. Could the 
veil be removed so that we could see spiritual realities, 
then what a brisk commerce of this kind would be dis- 
covered between God and His numerous faithful ones." 

It was through Christ typified by the Ladder of 



228 MEMORIAL. 

Jacob's vision, which joined earth to heaven, that he 
saw, as Jacob did, the angels of God ascending and 
descending on their errands of love. And whenever 
his thoughts recurred to the vital want of his soul, and 
especially as the shadows of death gathered more and 
more thickly around him, his affections concentrated 
more and more strongly and exclusively upon "Jesus 
only.'" 

In reply to the question, "Are your ideas of the 
spiritual economy of the next life more definite as you 
near it 1 " he said : " Hardly ; there is great room for 
speculation where so little is revealed, but I have a 
strong feeling that I shall have some post of influence 
assigned me in regard to you here. I can't tell what 
or how, but I think it must be permitted the saints still 
to do something for those they love and leave behind. 
Perhaps by prayer. Who knows 1 " 

Alluding to the new feature in the sorrow of one 
whom he was about to leave, that she must bear it apart 
from his personal presence and expressed sympathy, 
he said : " Be assured, dearest, I will lift away at it in 
all the ways possible under that economy where I am.'* 

We have come at length to the confines of the most 
hallowed scene known to the earthly home, and we 
need to enter it with hushed breathings and noiseless 
step, conscious that we are on holy ground. As we 
approach the sufferer, we hear him faintly saying, — 

" Closer and closer my steps 
Come to the dark abysm ; 
Closer death to my lips 
Presses the awful chrism. 



LAST DAYS. 229 

" Father, perfect my trust ; 

Strengthen the might of my faith; 
Let me feel as I should, while I stand 
On the rock of the shore of death." 

There had been, for some time, so little apparent 
abatement of strength, that Mr. Hosford began to won- 
der how " the silver cord " was to be " loosed." " It 
seems," said he, "as if I must cough a long time yet 
to reduce this strength." But when, at length, there 
were indications of diarrhea, he at once understood it, 
and exclaimed : " Oh, this is the way it is to be done ; 
this is the beginning of the end. Very well ! very 
well!" 

Alluding to this form of disease, he, at another time, 
said : " You know this thing has been my special hor- 
ror, but it seems as if the Lord designed my humilia- 
tion to be complete." 

Three days before his death, he said : " You know I 
have always had a fear, perhaps no more than a whole- 
some fear, that, in the end, my piety may break down. 
I have not suffered yet as many do. I don't know how 
I can bear that, but I have been afraid I might say or 
do something to deny the Master. Grace has upheld 
me thus far ; every step has been paved with a prom- 
ise. I could ask nothing more to the end." 

Again : " I should like a clear death. I hope my 
mind will not be clouded by medicine. Don't let them 
give me any thing to affect it, for I should like to re- 
sign myself consciously to the Divine Will. ... I 
should like to add my dying testimony to the testimony 
of my life ; but, after all, dying is nothing except so 



230 MEMORIAL. 

far as it is the carrying out of the life. In order to be 
of any worth, it should be the complement of the life, 
and consistent with it." 

The fourteenth chapter of John, together with those 
which immediately follow it, had often been read to 
him, and always listened to with deep and hushed in- 
terest. But now, when the reading ceased, he elapsed 
his hands and slowly repeated, in the most emphatic 
manner, the words : " Peace I leave with you ; my 
peace I give unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, 
neither let it be afraid." 

Much of the time of the last few days he lay very 
quiet from extreme prostration. Once, after he had 
been long still, he roused himself, and said : " I find 
myself looking back in life, and I see how few things, 
after all, are essential to happiness, — fewer than I 
thought as I passed along. The simple pleasures of 
my boyhood, the brooks, and strawberry-picking, and 
mother ! Oh, how fresh and real they all look to me 
now ! Then, too, some of those scenes of landscape- 
beauty on which I have gazed ! My delight in them 
was intense, unmixed ; there was not an unfilled corner 
in it. If I were to live, it seems to me I should never 
care to see one new scene. So with music ; about a 
dozen of the best pieces of Mendelssohn and Beethoven 
are in my soul. These I should love to hear over and 
over forever. I never care to hear any thing new. . . . 
So the soul at last comes back to a few things but per- 
fect^ and delight in them is intense. Will it not be so 
in heaven T' 



LAST DAYS. 231 

Two days before his death, as his wife sat by his 
side, he gave another proof of " the humanity that was 
in him," by renewing certain suggestions of practical 
value. " These may seem to you very small matters 
to speak of at this hour;" he added, "but more of 
your comfort depends on them than you know. I 
have always delighted to do them for you, but now 
you will have to do them for yourself, and I wish you 
to know how." 

On the morning of the last day he spent on earth, 
he roused at daybreak, took a little nourishment, and 
asked to have the curtain drawn away that he might 
look out. His eye wandered from the reddening light 
in the eastern horizon to more neutral colors, and, 
pointing with his finger, he feebly said, " Grayer tints 
and more beautiful," and soon sank, or seemed to sink, 
into a partial unconsciousness. 

When, a little later, the children came in, " Isa " 
bringing his usual offering of morning-glories, which 
this morning he had arranged on a sheet of white 
paper, to set off their rich tints by contrast, he did not 
at first notice the flowers. But in a few minutes his 
fond eye was seen to rest delighted on each, when, 
turning to "little Isa" with a most tender smile, he 
said, — " Good morning, my dear little boy." After 
recognizing each one then in the room in turn, he 
again sank into a stupor from which his attendants 
could not rouse him. For hours they sat by him, 
bathing his hands and face, moistening his lips, and 



282 MEMORIAL. 

sometimes speaking to him words of endearment,* 
when there was no sign of life but a feeble fluttering 
of the pulse, which at times was lost to the sense of 
touch. In the afternoon he moved his lips, when they 
touched them, and, after a few efforts, he could again 
swallow. He took iced milk, asked for something he 
wanted, and soon came back to full consciousness. 

The day was intensely hot, and one stood near him 
with a fan. His position was changed. This induced 
a coughing-fit, which it was feared would strangle him ; 
but after a little effort, he raised as usual, noticed the 
character of his expectoration, and commented on the 
change in its color. Soon, while his attendants were 
arranging his pillows, he suddenly tossed his arms 
wildly in a convulsive struggle for breath ; his fingers 
were distended, his chest heaving and purple, and with 
a most imploring look for help he turned his eye on 
his wife, and exclaimed, " Oh, this is the agony of 
dying. Fan, fan." 

Supporting him in her arms, his wife said, " Yes, 
dear, it is ! but I trust it will be short, and Jesus will 
help you through it." " I know it, — I know it," he 
replied ; and when, in her desire to help him, she was 
about to speak again, he raised his hand, gently touched 
her cheek, and, with a look as if every thing was in 
peril, gasped, " Please stop, my dear, and let me get a 
great thought." After a moment, a smile, such as 
would adorn an angel's brow, broke over every feature. 

* They remembered that he had once told them he thought the dying had 
sometimes a consciousness which they could not make apparent. 



LAST DAYS. 233 

" You have it now ? " said Mrs. H . " Yes, 

yes ! " " What is it?" " Oh, the light beyond! " 
said he. Then, throwing back his head with a sort 
of exultant motion, he added, — " / stand in the light 
of God." 

Like that bird whose dying song is said to be its 
sweetest and its best, his words seemed now almost 
celestial. Strange, that when to the eye of this world, 
the harp of the human heart seems most shattered and 
useless, it then should give forth its richest melody ! 
As we sometimes listen to the soft strains of the 
iEolian, while the viewless winds are playing upon its 
wires, and imagine ourselves to be listening to the 
song of distant angels, so we listen to the melody of 
the redeemed human spirit, while, upon its strings 
shattered for earth, the breezes of heaven, if not the 
unseen finger of God, are playing, till even the wreck 
of the mortal utters notes in unison with the raptures 
of the immortal. It is the believer's song of victory 
in the night of death. 

Our dear brother now had little left to do but to 

" Pass through Glory's morning gate, 
And walk in Paradise." 

It was evident that he was " leaning on the Be- 
loved " as he " went up from the wilderness," and we 
who knew him had no need to ask, " Who is this ? " 

As the children gathered about his bed again, and 
the youngest, looking upon the transfigured counte- 
nance of his dying father, whispered to his mother, — 
" What makes papa look so lovely % " the father 

30 



234 MEMORIAL. 

caught the words and answered, " Because papa loves 
his little boy so much, and because the blessed Saviour 
loves him too." " Oh, my dear papa will not be here 
to share my birthday with me ! " sobbed the child. 
" Dear little boy, how I should love to be with you," 
was the response, " but I '11 tell Mattie when I get to 
heaven, and we will talk about it there." 

The two boys now at his request came nearer, and, 
laying a hand on the head of each, he very distinctly 
gave them his blessing : *' May the God of Abraham, 
Isaac, and Jacob be with you, and bless you ; and the 
blessings of the dear Redeemer follow you forever- 
more : Amen. Meet me in heaven." 

His daughter, standing on the other side of the bed, 
now bowed her head, while he, commencing with the 
words " My darling daughter," repeated the same 
blessing upon her. 

He now took leave of the weeping grandmother of 
the children, bidding her come after him and come 
quick. Then followed tender farewell words to others 
around his bed. 

While he was thus pressing in at the Golden Gate, 
his eyes brimming with human tenderness, and yet 
lighted up with the glories which streamed through the 
open portals, he said to his wife, — "I can't feel that 
I shall be very far away from you. I shall keep as 
near to you as I can." 

As there were now indications of another struggle, 

Mrs. H bade the children go out, when, waving 

his hand, he said, " All go." Then he bowed himself 



LAST DAYS. 285 

to the conflict. It was terrible, but from the sufferer 
it wrung no cry save this, — " The will of the Lord 
be done, though it is hard to the flesh," and, wrestling 
yet more mightily with the last enemy, he said again 
and with still more emphasis, — " The will of the Lord 
be done, I say ; but it is dreadful for the flesh." 

When he was in a measure relieved, one said to 
him, — " God has answered your prayer. You suffer 
terribly, but you have not denied Him." " He has 
answered me thus far," said he, " but I am not through 
yet; let Him answer me to the end." 

After this he did not seem very severely to suffer. 
The bitterest cup had been exhausted. During the 
next two hours, other friends came at intervals around 
his bed, to all of whom he addressed fitting and char- 
acteristic words. To one who, doubting whether he 
were still conscious enough to recognize him, said, 
" Do you know me, Mr. Hosford X " " Know you ? " 
he replied, grasping his hand, " Whom should I know 

if I don't know you ] Why, yes, brother J 

R ." 

At ten o'clock in the evening, the children came 
around him for their last " good-night," which he gave 
with difficulty, making an effort to articulate the name 
of each. 

After this farewell interview with the children, he 
rarely spoke, except in reply to questions, which were 
very few, no one being willing to break in upon " the 
holy hush of the room." The smile which, at the first, 
his attendants recognized as the reflected " light of 



285 MEMORIAL. 

God," still rested on his face, as he lay with his eyes 
quietly fixed upon his dearest earthly friend, and his 
hand clasped in hers. " All is peaceful/' he once 
whispered. Fearing at one time that he was losing 
his sight, she said, " Do you see me \ " With an 
expression of surprise he replied, " Just as well as ever 
I did in my life." 

A little later, thinking that he was losing conscious- 
ness, she stepped behind him, and placing her hand on 
his forehead, asked, " Do you know this ? " " Yes," he 
responded, " long, — precious and sustaining as it has 
always been ! " 

After this he spoke but an occasional word. Re- 
taining his consciousness almost to the last, he gently 
and sweetly sank into the arms of his Redeemer, till, 
just before one o'clock on the morning of August 10, 
1864, he was, in his own expressive words, " delivered 
out of life." 

"'Tis done ! 'tis done ! 
Life's weary work is done ! 
Now the glad spirit leaves the clay, 
And treads with winged ease, 

The bright acclivities 
Of heaven's crystalline way ! 
Joy to thee, blessed one I " 






CHAPTER XVIII. 

FUNERAL SERVICES. 

" The City's shining towers we may not see 
With, our dim earthly vision, 
For Death, the silent warden, keeps the key 
That opes those gates elysian. 

" But sometimes, when adown the western sky 
The fiery sunset lingers, 
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, 
Unlocked by unseen fingers. 

"And, while they stand a moment half ajar, 
Gleams from the inner glory 
Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, 
And half reveal the story." 

N. A. Priest. 

In accordance with Mr. Hosford's repeated direc- 
tions, the funeral was private, and at his own dwelling. 
Hundreds of his friends would, on their own account, 
have preferred a more public service ; but all felt that 
the place and the nature of the service which he him- 
self had designated, were in strict keeping with his 
characteristic modesty, and well-known aversion to pub- 
licity and display. Though the number in attendance 
would have been very largely increased had the service 
been in the church, numerous friends from abroad, in- 
cluding many of his brethren in the ministry, joined the 



238 MEMORIAL. 

gathered and tearful throng of his former parishioners 
and neighbors, within and around the darkened dwell- 
ing. 

The exercises were commenced by the reading of 
selections from the Scriptures, by Rev. T. T. Munger, 
Mr. Hosford's successor as pastor of the Centre 
Church. Rev. Dr. Train, now of the Theological 
Seminary at Newton, but for many years the beloved 
pastor of the First Baptist Church in Haverhill, fol- 
lowed in an address of most touching tenderness. In 
giving reminiscences of his long acquaintance with Mr. 
Hosford, and the warm and unbroken attachment that 
had ever existed between himself and his now departed 
brother, as neighbors and Christian pastors laboring 
side by side, his choked utterance and his whole appear- 
ance indicated that the deepest fountains of emotion 
were stirred. It was a personal affliction, and the 
tremulous pathos of his voice, together with the tender- 
ness of the occasion in itself, moved all hearts, and 
made that recently consecrated dwelling, consecrated 
now so soon to death, a " Bochim." 

The exercises at the house were closed by Rev. 
John Pike, of Rowley. At the cemetery, Rev. S. J. 
Spalding, of Newburyport, read a part of the Service, 
never more appropriate, for the " Burial of the Dead," 
and offered an impressive prayer. A large number of 
sympathizing friends had gathered around the open 
grave previous to the arrival of the procession, and the 
whole scene was one of deep and touching solemnity. 
As the tearful throng slowly retired, all felt that, 



FUNERAL SERVICES. 239 

though earth had lost, heaven had gained, one of the 
purest and best from the Christian brotherhood, and 
that, even through the open grave, — 

" Gleams from the inner glory " 

could be seen, which revealed the welcome assurance 
that our brother was thenceforth to be 

" Forever with the Lord." 



CHAPTER XIX. 

THE SLEEPING PLACE. 

" Dear, beauteous death, the jewel of the just, 

Shining nowhere but in the dark; 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 

Could man outlook that mark ! 
He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, 

At first sight, if the bird be flown; 
But what fair field or grove he sings in now, 

That is to him unknown. 

" And yet as angels, in some brighter dreams, 
Call to the soul when man doth sleep, 
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, 

And into glory peep. 
If a star were confined into a tomb, 

Her captive flame must needs burn there ; 
But when the hand that locked her up, gave room, 
She'd shine through all the sphere.^' 

H. Vaughan. 

" The sleeping place " of our dear brother is a 
beautiful spot, selected by himself as the burial place 
of " little Mattie." Though in the midst of the " city 
of the dead," it is quite retired, on the southern 
slope of an embowered hill, from which there is a 
charming view of the Merrimac, and the 

" Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood," 

which, with their " living green," and their background 
of more distant hills, furnish just such a landscape as 



THE SLEEPING PLACE. £41 

the sleeper there was never in his life weary of seeing. 
His strong love of Nature is apparent even in his 
choice of a grave. 

The " lot " contains as yet only two graves, each 
having a plain and simple, but appropriate monumental 
stone. The inscriptions, which, in both cases, are 
brief, and in marked keeping with Mr. Hosford's char- 
acter and taste, are as follows : — 

" LITTLE MATTIE : 

THE LORD GAVE HER NOVEMBER 12, 1854. 

THE LORD TOOK HER AWAY 

MARCH 13, 1862. 

BLESSED BE THE NAME OF THE LORD." 

"BENJAMIN FRANKLIN HOSFORD, 

FOR TWENTY-TWO YEARS A 

MINISTER OF CHRIST, 

BORN NOVEMBER 11, 1817 ,* DIED AUGUST 10, 1864. 

' I KNOW IN WHOM I HAVE BELIEVED.' " 

Here must the precious dust be left, "asleep in 
Jesus," to await the morning of the resurrection. 
Here, bidding our brother, who shall rise again, a short 
farewell, we may appropriately close this part of our 
Memorial with the sweet lines of one of the sons of 
Haverhill, "the Poet of our Valley," in remembrance 
of Joseph Sturge : — 

" His faith and works, like streams that intermingle, 
In the same channel ran : 
The crystal clearness of an eye kept single 
Shamed all the frauds of man. 

" The very gentlest of all human natures 
He joined to courage strong, 

31 



24<2 MEMORIAL. 

And love outreaching unto all God's creatures, 
With sturdy hate of wrong. 

" Tender as woman ; manliness and meekness 
In him were so allied, 
That the} r who judged him by his strength or weakness, 
Saw but a single side. 

" And now he rests : his greatness and his sweetness 
No more shall seem at strife ; 
And Death has moulded into calm completeness 
The statue of his life. 

" Where the dews glisten and the song-birds warble, 
His dust to dust is laid, 
In Nature's keeping, with no pomp of marble, 
To shame his modest head. 

" And round his grave are quietude and beauty, 
And the sweet heaven above, — 
The fitting symbols of a life of duty 
Transfigured into love ! " 



CHAPTER XX. 

LETTERS OF CONDOLENCE AND REMINISCENCES OF 
FRIENDS. 

" friend ! brother ! not in vain 
Thy life so calm and true, 
The silver dropping of the rain, 
The fall of summer dew ! 

" How many burdened hearts have prayed 
Their lives like thine might be ! 
But more shall pray henceforth for aid 
To lay them down like thee." 

Whittier. 

It would have been easy by solicitation to secure a 
large number of communications from friends for this 
part of our Memorial. But with only two or three 
exceptions which will be apparent, those which will be 
given were unsolicited, and came as the spontaneous 
outgush of heartfelt feeling; while those that were 
solicited are the testimonials of an interest equally 
genuine and tender. 

A brother of Mr. Hosford writes : — 

" The star of our family is set at raid-day. We can see it 
no more, though a light, we trust like the Zodiacal, will long 
remain in the heavens, marking his track, toward which we 
may look, and be taught and comforted." 

"It never seemed so lonely at home as now," [writes 



244 MEMORIAL. 

another brother,] "now that the dreadful truth bursts upon us, 
c He will come no more forever ! ' My poor memory is all I 
have to comfort me. Henceforth I will grope my way in the 
world in hope I shall yet be allowed to see him, though the 
distance between be ever so great. He taught me thus to be- 
lieve, and gave me the most cheering hopes of a future life. 
To him more than to all others am I indebted for any love of 
spiritual things. What he loved to do himself, it was not 
difficult to make others do, and what I think he wished me to 
do, it seems most desirable for me to live for." 

One of Mr. Hosford's former parishioners writes : — 

" I am but one of many who have the greatest occasion for 
thankfulness at having been under Mr Hosford's ministry so 
long, — a thankfulness which overflows, even amid grief at his 
departure, since the very sense of loss shows more plainly what 
he has done for us. It is hard to realize that he has gone 
from earth, while the results of his influence are still so fresh 
and vital, and the whole atmosphere of thought in many minds 
still vibrates with the impulses of his strong, pure words and 
deeds. 

" I have often felt, and more strongly as the years pass by, 
that there was nothing worthy in my spiritual life which I 
could not trace back to him, since through him I first learned 
to realize the beauty and glory of a life that aims at harmony 
with the spirit of Christ. 

" It is pleasant, with all its sadness, to think of him now as 
having entered into that glory, of which, even upon earth, he 
seemed to have so much brighter and more vivid glimpses 
than others. It seems almost as if the bliss of heaven must 
have to him a peculiar intensity and fullness, from the fineness 
and susceptibility of his nature." 

The following is from a parishioner, near neighbor, 
and intimate friend of Mr. Hosford : — 

" I knew Mr. Hosford better than almost any one outside of 



LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES. 24<5 

my own family. He was the dear trusted friend of my early 
manhood, the true, faithful guide in all the great interests of a 
spiritual nature, for nearly twenty years. I loved and re- 
spected him more than almost any man I ever knew, and his 
memory is like the fragrance of flowers, or visions of angelic 
beings. He was without guile, — honest, truthful, sincere, gen- 
uine. Only those who are compelled to come in contact with 
the selfishness and dishonesty of large numbers of men in 
their daily business intercourse, could fully appreciate such a 
character." 

Another parishioner of Mr. Hosford, and long his 
physician, writes : — 

" I thank God that I knew Mr. Hosford so well, and for the 
influence of his life upon me and mine. And I am deeply 
grateful that I had such a friend, and that I was permitted to 
sustain the most delicate and tender relations to him for so 
many eventful years. ....... 

" Among the many tender and delightful interviews I had 
with him, I remember two that were very touching. On a 
quiet summer afternoon of a Sabbath, I was with him alone. 
He conversed freely upon the wonderful working of God's 
plan, and expressed a desire to see things in some degree as 
God sees them. ' I had marked out,' said he, ' a work for the 
next five years, for which I thought myself specially adapted. 
But God does not need that work, and how mortifying to my 
ambition to think I am so little needed in carrying on His great 
plan. But perhaps His cause will be best promoted by this 
very experience through which I pass ; and no doubt the work 
of grace will be more effectually accomplished in my own poor 
heart. How wise are all His plans ! ' 

" I referred to what God had already permitted him to do, 
and to the influence of his life and teachings. ' I don't know 
how I have done it,' he replied, ' Oh it is wonderful how God 
works through this poor weak flesh The efforts that 



246 MEMORIAL. 

the world have praised most are to me the most mortifying. I 
can see now what I might do in the future by profiting by my 
mistakes in the past. How unsatisfying is the desire to be a 
literary minister. A minister has gained power over himself 
when he can sift out of his sermons every thing except what 
ought to be there, and preach the gospel in its simplicity, and 
for the sake of preaching that alone ! ' 

" The other occasion referred to was in a summer twilight* 
The day had been hot, and he was restless on his sick-bed. 
I commenced repeating the hymn, 'Alone with God.' He 
listened quietly, and, when I had finished, he remained silent, 
and I supposed had fallen asleep ; but soon, in his impressive 
manner, repeated the line, — 

' Give rest, Thy rest, of rest the best.'' 

" He desired me to repeat some other sweet hymn, and I 
recited the beautiful lines, ' Nearer Home ' : 

' One sweetly solemn thought 
Comes to me o'er and o'er ; 
I 'm nearer home to-day 

Than I 've ever been before.' 

" When I had finished, he exclaimed, * How sweet ! repeat 
it again.' Thus we passed the most solemn hour that I ever 
experienced. 

" We took a stroll into the wood about a mile from home,* 
one afternoon during the last autumn that he spent on earth. 
It was the perfection of Indian summer, when 

' Sweet, calm days in golden haze 
Melt down the amber sky.' 

" He talked freely of the beauty of the scenes that were con- 
stantly presented to our view. ' No war here,' he exclaimed, 
' all is calm and peaceful.' — ' Too near to God for doubt or 
fear.' — ' They share the eternal calm.' — ' How many of God's 
beautiful works are lost upon man because he will not observe. 
How he rushes on irrespective of the wealth of beauty all 
around him. He seeks for something satisfying far away, 
when the elements are lying profusely about his home. How 
bountiful is God in all His gifts to man ! ' 



LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES. 247 

" During the winter that he spent in the country while 
endeavoring to regain his health, I was in frequent correspond- 
ence with him. His letters were always cheerful and hope- 
ful, and expressive of an earnest desire to be restored to the 
work he loved so well among the dear people of his charge. 
A few extracts will show the spirit he manifested under this 
great affliction : ' Dear youths — how I shall wish to see them, 
and labor lovingly with them personally, and how hard it will 
be for me to hear the Master say, " Your help is no longer 
needed as aforetime." In some respects this is harder than it 
would have been to have dropped from among them forever as 
by a sudden death. But grace is schooling me to it, loosening 
my hold inch by inch, and almost imperceptibly to myself, 
strengthening me gradually for a burden which at first would 
have crushed me at once.' Again, while we were enjoying an 
interesting revival during this absence, he wrote : ' And I, ah 
me ! I am silenced and paralyzed at this critical hour. I can 
do nothing but sit by and look on, after all the years of my 
toil and prayer that I might see such a day. But this is 
clearly the Divine will, and so clearly that I can bow to it the 
more easily.' Again, after a very serious illness from influ- 
enza, which greatly prostrated him at a time he had hoped he 
was gaining, he wrote : ' The cough has left me almost en- 
tirely, and I can nibble a little something daily, — about as 
much as a good house-fly, or a well-to-do mouse consumes.' 
Again, in the spring following : ' Every thing about us is 
exceedingly pleasant these spring days. How cheerful the 
birds and flowers (oh, the superlative beauty of the wild 
flowers !) strive to make " all out-doors," and how the mantle 
of God's loving care is over all. You get nearer to the source 
and soul of things in the country than in the city, especially 
such a busy town as Haverhill.' 

" At another time, after a great affliction in my family, of 
which he wrote most tenderly, he concludes : ' With these sad 
picturings I entertain my lonely spirit, while I lie sleepless 
during the night-hours ; except where my thoughts take the 



24*8 MEMORIAL. 

form of prayer, and even then perhaps they may do you all no 
good, but they prove at least how deeply my experience as 
your minister for so many eventful years, has scored you into 
my mind and heart. But the time is coming and may be very 
near, when burdens will be rolled off, and heavy thoughts, with 
saddened remembrances, be blotted out by the full tide of 
present joys.' 

"At another time when some of his dearest friends had 
decided to make a profession of faith in Christ before the 
world, he said : ' But glad am I that the Good Shepherd's love 
to them is not affected by any weakness of his ministry. Take 
each loved one warmly by the hand for me, and welcome them 
towards Christ's fold. Whom having not seen I love, for the 
Master's sake, and, for aught I can perceive, love as warmly as 
I could, had I followed them step by step through the last six 
months' preparation. The good Lord help them unto the 
end.' " 

The following communication from Rev. George T. 
Dole, of Stockbridge, Mass., though not received till 
the Memorial was nearly through the press, is intro- 
duced here as a welcome contribution from a classmate 
of Mr. Hosford during his senior year in the Theolog- 
ical Seminary at Andover : — 

" There was that about Mr. Hosford which led me 

at once to mark him, and which soon drew my heart instinct- 
ively toward him. But our rooms were not near each other, 
and months passed away before I became really acquainted 
with him. Indeed it was not till summer term that there was 
any intimacy between us ; when circumstances led to consider- 
able private and familiar intercourse. He was somewhat re- 
served, perhaps diffident, and specially reticent, I think, in 
his religious experiences. My impression of him from the first 
was that he was a sincere, humble Christian, and a diligent 
student, faithful and prompt in all prescribed duties, and ever 



LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES. 249 

performing his part creditably, whatever it was. Of his stand- 
ing as a linguist or theologian, I cannot speak as I might have 
done, if associated with him earlier in the course. He seldom 
engaged in debate upon those theological points which were 
mooted and. discussed, sometimes with considerable warmth, 
among us ; though an attentive listener. And I have sup- 
posed that his theological ideas were more in a formative state 
than those of many of his class. He was, I think, one of its 
younger members. Certainly it was by his literary rather than 
his theological attainments, that he was then conspicuous. 
His taste was exquisite, and his criticisms, though always cour- 
teous, just and acute. His style was graceful, yet fresh and 
not without vigor. As a writer, he took rank with our fore- 
most men. But it was evident that he did not regard his 
education as in any respect finished, or about finished, but 
would go on learning and growing, and, to use an expression 
which I once heard him employ respecting another young man, 
that ' he would not culminate till at least forty years old.' 

" His eye was keen, thoughtful, deep, yet with rare humor 
often visibly lurking in it ; and his whole countenance full of 
vivacity and sensibility. His conversation was never common- 
place, and was often enlivened by pleasantry and wit, yet ever 
chaste. His manners were characterized by gentleness, nat- 
uralness, and simplicity. 

"In June, 1844, he spent a few days at my house, in Beverly, 
and preached two excellent sermons, portions of which I dis- 
tinctly remember. Having remained a resident at the Semi- 
nary on the Abbott Foundation, he had now been some two 
years at large, and was feeling considerably discouraged at not 
having obtained a settlement, and gave utterance to apprehen- 
sions that he had mistaken his calling. That he had such a 
feeling painfully at times, I have other evidence. And the 
fact, in view of what he afterwards proved, is quite suggestive. 

" After Brother Hosford's ministry commenced at Haverhill, 
our intercourse was infrequent. Two brief visits I made at his 
house. Seven years ago last month I spent twenty-four hours 
32 



250 MEMORIAL. 

there ; and I found him, though matured in intellect, ad- 
vanced in knowledge, and holding an honored position, the 
same tasteful, genial man, the same cordial, unaffected friend. 
A deeper earnestness however in his work, and a profounder 
spirituality than I had observed in him before, I think, was 
manifest. One remark of his I remember to this effect : ' If 
we are ever to do any thing to save the people to whom we 
preach, we must do it soon.' I did not understand the remark 
to be made, though, from any presentiments of premature 
death. 

" I left him happy in his pleasant family, with that sweet 
vivacious little Mattie full of glee at his side. That was our 
last personal interview. 

" When I saw it announced in the newspaper that he had 
been bleeding at the lungs, and was in a very critical situation, 
I felt moved (having myself been laid aside by hemorrhage in 
1851,) to write to him such words of encouragement as my own 
experience afforded. To this he soon sent the following 
reply : — 

" ' Brother and Friend, — Your note of Christian sym- 
pathy touched me tenderly ; and also strengthened me. I am 
happy to acknowledge it with my own hand, and to be able to 
do it without exhaustion. The newspaper, as usual, exagger- 
ated somewhat. I bled not enough to prostrate me ; but doc- 
tors and friends prostrated me, lest I should by action or 
speech bleed more. I am at present very comfortable, — with- 
out pain, and not much weakened except by being kept so still. 
I am advised and commanded to persevere resolutely in this 
quietude and passivity, giving physical nature ample time and 
opportunity to heal ; being as free as possible from effort, wea- 
riness and care. Can you from your own successful experi- 
ence, add any suggestion of practical value ? 

" ' I trust the admonition will not be lost upon me, whether 
living and labor, or suspension of labor and dying be the re- 
sult. Were I the only person concerned in the matter, I 
should make a much less vigorous opposition to the disease 



LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES. 251 

than I now do. Wife and children, — they fill up the way be- 
tween me and death, so that I hardly know how I can get 
over! Yet our Gracious Redeemer-Friend has lifted many 
a timid, loving mortal clear over this difficulty ; and thus will 
He do with me, if I am His. I remain your brother and 
friend, Hosford. 



? » 



Rev. L. H. Adams, of Manchester, N. H., writes : — 

"As to Brother Hosford's characteristics, what can I say? 
Pleasant, genial, (I won't say i witty ' as the word is so vilified 
in common usage) keen, often brilliant, and all these pervaded 
by a deep reverence and care for others' feelings, made him a 
most rare and delightful friend. His modesty was equalled 
only by his genius ; for he was more than ' gifted,' or i talented/ 
and yet so unique was that genius, that I am at a loss where 
to class it. Not a theologian, logician, orator, or poet, by his 
confession, yet an intimate acquaintance showed Brother Hos- 
ford to be familiar, in the best sense of the word, with all the 
fairest fields of these different departments of intellectual and 
literary life. As a Christian, he had evidently tasted of the 
1 deep things ' of God, and could not tolerate a superficial, 
careless experience, but truly seemed to be 'nourished up 
in the word of faith and of good doctrine whereunto he had 
attained.' 

" This personal experience led him to set up a high stand- 
ard of ministerial excellence, and wherein he thought he fell 
short, no one was quicker to discern or severer to condemn 
than himself." 

Dr. W. W. Morland, of Boston, writes to Mrs. 

Hosford : — 

" When I think of your husband, it is with this 

thought more than any, I believe, that he is at rest. *Not that 
he did not enjoy, even to the last, all that was to him so enjoy- 
able, — your own companionship and that of his children, 
together with the society of many whom he valued, — but then, 



%52 MEMORIAL. 

for the last year, I conclude, much of existence was only a 
fruitless and wearying struggle against relentless disease ; and 
worn-out nature must at last have been even glad to lay down 
her arms. 

" I have often thought of my last interview with your hus- 
band. How much he seemed, although so ill, to appreciate 
the beauty of your surrounding landscape ! I particularly 
recall his enthusiastic account of the robin concert renewed 
every morning. 

"While you must experience a sense of deprivation and 
loneliness, you cannot be without comfort, even under the 
impression of such pleasant earthly memories. But, in a 
higher and more enduring consolation, I am well aware, is 
your chief support. ' Blessed are the dead who die in the 
Lord.' I love to think of those whom I have most valued on 
earth, and who have ' gone before,' in the spirit of the ex- 
quisite hymn, with which you are doubtless familiar, — 
' Who are these in bright array,' &c. 

" With sincere sympathy and regard, I remain, 

" Yours, very truly." 

Rev. C. E. Fisher, of Lawrence, writes : — 

" We mourn with you under the great bereavement that has, 
at length, come upon you; not that our dear brother has 
entered into rest, and into the glory of the blessed Jesus whom 
he loved, — but with you, in your desolation. We knew and 
loved Brother Hosford, and we mourn that we shall see his 
face no more. Your own united life, so tender and beautiful, 
is interrupted in its earthly experiences, to be developed in 
new and deepening spirituality, and satisfying oneness with 
Christ. God will open to you, in this furnace of affliction, new 
manifestations of Himself, such as He gives only to those that 
mourn, and they shall be comforted of God. Brother Hosford 
had the elements of mind and heart that would have made 
him increasingly useful at home and abroad, in his ripened 
life, had he been blessed with health. But none know so well 



LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES. 253 

as you, dear sister, how he has labored, striven, and borne up 
against his oppressing and depressing disease, which has now 
set him free to walk with angels, and to behold the glory of 
God, and find, in His presence and love, perfect and uninter- 
rupted life. Rejoice in his gain and our Father's will and 
pleasure, and seek in Him the consolation which alone can 
satisfy." 

Rev. D. Butler, Secretary of the Massachusetts 

Bible Society, writes : — 

." Few are called to experience a grief like yours, for God 
has given to few such a friend as formed and graced your 
home. With a nature originally of the finest mould, refined 
by culture and sanctified by grace, his presence was a contin- 
ual joy. I never left your home after my casual visits, without 
feeling that I had enjoyed the society of one who was in the 
closest sympathy with all that is true, and pure, and beautiful. 
Like all others favored with his acquaintance, I respected him, 
I esteemed him, I thanked God for him. I was grateful for 
the blessings that surrounded him, for the happiness he caused 
and the happiness he felt, in his home, and in his study, and 
among the flock which he tended so faithfully and lovingly to 
the last. 

" His removal from the world where he was accomplishing 
so much in the maturity of his powers, is a mystery which 
here we may not penetrate. And yet, if we estimate one's life 
by what he has enjoyed and accomplished, he has lived long, 
far longer than the period usually allotted to man. His life 
has not been a failure, nor did it terminate till the richest har- 
vests were gathered." 

The following is an extract from a letter addressed 
to Mrs. Hosford, by one of Mr. Hosford's ministerial 

neighbors : — — 

" An acquaintance of ten years with Brother Hosford has 
endeared him to me as but few men have ever been endeared 



254> MEMORIAL. 

to me. He was indeed a rare man, and a still rarer minister 
of Jesus Christ. As a Christian, as a theologian, as a writer, 
as a preacher, and as a friend in .all relations, I can hardly 
resist the promptings of my heart to record my admiration of 
him. Never can I cease to remember him with the deepest 
and tenderest interest, and no small part of my joy in the 
anticipation of ' the rest of our Father's house,' gathers around 
the humble hope that his ' mansion ' and mine may be side by 
side, as our parishes have been on earth. It would greatly 
oppress my heart to feel that my acquaintance with him has 
ended, and that I have seen him for the last time. The last 
time that I did see him, I wanted, as I left him, and felt that 
we probably should meet no more on earth, to remind him 
that ' Christians never see each other for the last time.' This 
thought, though I found myself too full of emotion to express 
it then, has again and again recurred to and comforted me as, 
in imagination, I have had his pale face and emaciated form 
before me : ' Dear brother, we shall see each other again. We 
need not utter our farewells. All the sweetest and richest of 
our acquaintance as Christians is to come' 

" I doubt not, my afflicted sister, that you, as his nearest and 
dearest earthly friend, are comforted and sustained by Ms Sav- 
iour, and the gospel he preached. Your family circle has been 
invaded by death before, but it was only to hallow and make 
more sacred all its links and ties, broken and unbroken. And 
now not only your home, but your dwelling, so recently dedi- 
cated, is hallowed by a double sacredness. But though no 
dwelling is fully dedicated, as an earthly home, till it is conse- 
crated by death, the event that has now consecrated yours in- 
vests it with far more of light than of shade. Only let Chris- 
tian faith perform its appropriate office of bringing the distant 
near, and rendering the unseen visible, and I can safely pre- 
dict that it will now be dearer than ever, — a home ' quite on 
the verge of heaven,' through whose open portals your beloved 
husband has almost visibly passed from his chamber of sick- 
ness and suffering to his mansion of rest and glory. 



LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES. £55 

' Dear, beauteous death; the jewel of the just ! 
Shining nowhere but in the dark ; 
"What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 
Could man outlook that mark ! ' " 

Prof. W. G. T. Shedd, of New York, writes : — 

"My dear Mrs. Hosford, — It is not that my wortls, on 
any human words, can abate the sharpness of your grief that 
I send these brief lines, but only to express my deep sympathy 
with you and your children in this hour. What you have lost, 
none can so truly tell as your own heart, with all its memories 
of twenty-five years of intimate companionship. What his 
friends and the church have lost, they will know more and 
more, as in the light of his completed life, and of the tomb, 
they scan his rare traits and virtues, — and especially as they 
painfully see that the world has perishing need of such spirits 
as his, and finds but a very few of them in each generation for 
its guides and instructors. Among all the men in Eastern 
Massachusetts with whom I came in contact, (and it was my 
lot to come in contact with many men of many minds,) there 
was not one whose death could touch me at so deep a point as 
his. But I must not follow this train of feeling. He is 

' gone into the world of light, 

And we alone sit lingering here !' 

" That our gracious God and Saviour will make His 

truths and promises very clear and comforting to your mind, 
is both my fervent prayer and confident belief; 'for He is 
faithful that promised.' " 

Subsequent to the date of the foregoing letter, Prof. 
Shedd furnished, by request, the following communi- 
cation, to the accuracy of whose delineation all who 
knew Mr. Hosford will most heartily assent : — 

" For me to attempt to give my recollections of Mr. Hosford 
within the limits of a letter, is as difficult a task as I can 
undertake. I should not like to attempt it even in the space 
of a volume. And this, not because his life was a stirring one, 



256 MEMORIAL. 

or that my acquaintance with him was long continued. He 
led the quiet life of a pastor, and my acquaintance with him 
did not begin until we had both reached manhood. The diffi- 
culty arises from the rare fineness and subtlety of his excel- 
lences. He belonged to that very small class of mortals whose 
■clay is porcelain. I shall therefore content myself with that 
rapid and brief utterance of respect and affection which im- 
plies more than it expresses. 

" The constituent elements in Mr. Hosford's nature seem to 
me to have been a union of delicacy and energy. He was in- 
stinctively refined, and as instinctively intense and forceful. 
Had the former quality not been balanced by the latter, he 
would have exhibited all the traits of those who waste life in 
the vague worship of beauty, and bring nothing to pass. I 
never knew a person more sincerely alive to beauty, both in 
Nature and in Art, than he. He had the tastes of a naturalist, 
and often, in my rambles with him, have I been struck with 
the quickness and justice of his observations upon physical 
features. He had the eye of a painter, and responded, not in 
any affectation, but with blood-felt delight, to hues, and forms, 
and outlines of scenery. For the world of sound he had not 
only a natural but a scientific ear. Music was a passion with 
him, and Lydian airs immediately lapped him in Elysium. 
This aesthetic tendency pervaded his entire organization, and 
threw over all that he did or said the atmosphere of refine- 
ment. 

" But this dangerous trait was tempered and restrained by 
energy. I never knew a more positive man than he was. His 
sympathies were strong and his antipathies very strong. He 
was not forward to express what he felt upon disputed ques- 
tions in church and state, but in the recesses of his intellect 
there never was any apathy towards what he thought to be 
truth, and what he thought to be error. He felt vividly and 
oftentimes painfully. A conservative, as is every highly culti- 
vated man, I have often witnessed the recoil of his well-edu- 
cated and just understanding from the crude notions and 



LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES. 25~? 

methods of charlatans and declaimers ; and sometimes I have 
listened to the cool and vitriolic sarcasm in which he gave ex- 
pression to his intense aversion. This innate energy braced 
and fortified his refinement, and preserved him from an effem- 
inacy which would otherwise have been the characteristic of so 
gentle, sensitive, and retiring a nature as his. 

" Of course these do not exhaust the characteristics of Mr. 
Hosford's mind; but I think they constituted its ground- 
work, and I seem to find their presence and influence in all 
that he thought and did. They showed themselves in his 
intellectual productions and in the general tone of his think- 
ing. This would be a fertile theme, — for Mr. Hosford w T as 
marked by a singularly fresh and graceful style, — but I must 
content myself with a brief notice of his religious character, 
as it exhibited the two traits that have been alluded to. 

" There was a rare spirituality and sincerity in his way of 
contemplating religious things. He feared hypocrisy above 
all, and no mortal was more free from cant. Consequently, 
whenever he spoke upon the solemn subject of religion, I 
always felt that I was hearing one who did not run in advance 
of his convictions. Though a playful humor often suffused his 
thoughts, and a swift glancing w r it flashed out of them, he uni- 
formly dwelt in a serious and elevated region. I doubt 
whether any one can recall a frivolous remark from his lips. 
Though far from all pretense and prudery, he was a man of 
true Christian dignity, and never for a moment lost sight of 
the ' good behavior ' or decorum which St. Paul requires in the 
Christian bishop. I always thought him a model in this 
respect. 

" The prayers of a Christian man, when he is in a praying 
mood, reveal his inward nature and traits more than any other 
mental productions. Those of Mr. Hosford were oftentimes 
strangely searching and intensely supplicatory. When under 
the strong impression of eternal realities, his petitions reached 
a sphere that was wholly unearthly. I remember, and shall 
always remember, a prayer which he offered beside the open 
33 



258 MEMORIAL. 

grave of the late Dr. Dimmick. We had followed his remains, 
as a clerical association, to their last resting-place in the ceme- 
tery, and with us were the weeping kindred, the weeping par- 
ishioners, and the saddened townsmen. Mr. Hosford was 
called to give voice to the reflections and emotions of the hour. 
His own mind had been deeply smitten by the very sud- 
den death of a most respected and beloved father in Christ ; 
and there rose from his burdened but confidently believing 
soul such a supplication as lifted, and strengthened, and com- 
forted us all. Once again, in the privacy of his own home, 
and under the anguish of a bereavement that seemed to tear 
away a part of his own heart, I heard him offer a prayer that 
was awful for its spirituality, its resignation, and its rooted 
trust in God. 

"But I must not dwell longer upon the theme My 

recollections of Mr. Hosford are very tender and high. Since 
he has gone into the world of light, the refinement and spirit- 
uality of his mind and heart have become still more ethereal to 
my vision, and I almost feel as if I had no right to speak of 
him or about him. Tied to the body of this death, and un- 
nerved in this conflict with sin and vile affections, how shall 
we dare to intrude into that redeemed and holy circle, — 

' Where freed souls dwell by living fountains, 
On everlasting, spicy mountains.' 

" But it is a cheering thought that he was what he was by 
the grace of God in Christ ; and that all Christ's people shall 
one day wear the same ' image of the heavenly/ " 

In the " Contributions to the Ecclesiastical History 
of Essex County," published since Mr. Hosford's death, 
Rev. L. Withington, D. D., of Newbury, has given a 
very kind and just notice of Mr. Hosford, but, as it is 
brief and not intended to be complete, he has kindly 
consented to furnish the following additional notice, 
which, though touching upon the same points as the 



LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES. 259 

other notice, will be found to be mainly different, and 
a fitting tribute from the oldest surviving member save 
one of the " Essex North Association," of which Mr. 
Hosford was a member from October 29? 1845, until 
his death : — 

" My recollections of Brother Hosford are all pleasant. His 
early death has given a mournful interest to his calm and con- 
sistent life. He strikes me like one of our vernal suns, casting 
its setting beams on a tranquil and waveless sheet of water. 
He left us in the midst of his usefulness, and his faculties 
never shone brighter than at the last. I cannot aim to give an 
artistic and finished picture. I shall describe him as he im- 
pressed me from several years' recollection. His talents were 
proportionate, clear, bright, — the endowments of Nature 
joined to the most diligent and commendable cultivation. He 
inclined more to the logical than to the imaginary, and could 
always give a reason for the faith that was in him. He was 
more of a reasoner than a poet ; and yet I believe he some- 
times wrote poetry. I have always understood that the satiri- 
cal verses, ' Wanted, — A Minister, 1 were written by him. He 
was accustomed to write in the religious papers, and there 
was a vein of sober wit, always well pointed, which commanded 
attention and gave poignancy to his reproofs. His preaching 
was instructive rather than emotional, and the longer you heard 
him, the more you were pleased with his performance. His 
sermons appeared to me to run like a transparent stream, clear 
to the bottom, fertilizing the moral soil over which they flowed, 
and as the object of them was to do good, so that was their 
constant effect. 

" His character was as transparent as his style. He had no 
foldings, no disguises, but every word seemed to come from 
his heart. He was a sincere Christian ; and his aim seemed 
to be to exemplify in his own life all that he taught to others. 

u As to his theology, I always supposed it was tinctured by 
the school in which he was taught. He was born in Thetford, 



260 MEMORIAL. 

Vt, where Dr. Burton # was for a long time a successful 
preacher. Dr. Burton's theology was based on the taste- 
scheme, (so called), and I have always understood it to be a 
recession back to the old form of Calvinism ; that is, tracing all 
incidental sins to an evil principle inherited from the original 
transgression. It is true the terminology is somewhat differ- 
ent, but it revives, and was intended to revive, an old idea. 
At any rate, such seemed to be its effect in our brother's mind, 
in which some seemingly diverse qualities were blended in the 
finest harmony. Direct, without being rough ; sincere, and yet 
not offensive ; reverencing the old formulas, and yet willing to 
improve. His compound was, in the language of another, 
' like rivulets issuing from distant springs, each impregnated 
in its course with various mixtures, and tinged by infusions 
unknown to the others, yet at last easily uniting into one 
stream, and purifying themselves by the gentle effervescence 
of contrary qualities.' He had the harmony of the gospel- 
spirit. Yours truly, 

" Leonard Withington." 

The following notice, read by the Secretary of the 
Alumni at the Anniversary of the Theological Semi- 
nary at Andover, in 1865, may appropriately close 
these reminiscences : — 

"Mr. Hosford was a man of more than ordinary ability. 
He was a careful observer, and an independent thinker. He 
had deep but intelligent convictions, and great tenacity in 
adhering to them. As a preacher, he sought the instruction 
and edification of his hearers, rather than any merely popular 
effect. He never courted novelties in the pulpit, but was sat- 
isfied to present plain Bible truths. These truths, however, 
were often presented by him in remarkably fresh and original 
forms. He had a great dislike of shams, and could expose 
them with a keen sarcasm. He was a diligent student of the 

* Dr. Burton, however, died when Mr. Hosford was young. 



LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES. 261 

Bible and of science ; especially of those theories in science 
which affect the interpretation of the Bible. He was a man of 
refined tastes, a lover of whatever was beautiful in Nature 
and Art. He had an intelligent and exquisite enjoyment of 
the finest compositions in music. His excellences in general 
were substantial rather than showy. He was such a man as 
might have been expected, had his life been spared, to exer- 
cise a fifty years' pastorate in one place and in one pulpit. 
But He who holds the stars in His right hand, saw fit to re- 
move him, at his meridian, to a higher and brighter firma 
ment." 



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